


That Time Bobby Singer Bought a Slave for $57.50

by CertainlyHeisenberg, SonicoSenpai



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, BDSM, Bobby gets a Happy Ending, Child Abuse, Discipline, Domestic Discipline, Dominatrix, Everyone Needs A Hug, Everyone Needs Therapy, F/M, Graphic Sex, Humiliation, M/M, Oral Sex, Paddle, Plugs, Porn with heavy plot, Riding Crops, Romantic Idjits, Team Dean's Red Ass, This fiction is going off the rails, triggering as fuck, wooden spoon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2019-06-26 13:33:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 35
Words: 90,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15664212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CertainlyHeisenberg/pseuds/CertainlyHeisenberg, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SonicoSenpai/pseuds/SonicoSenpai
Summary: This work is a loose retelling of Geenajay's Four-FiveThe premise is the same.  Samuel Winchester discovers Dean Winchester is not his brother but was bought at an early age as a slave.  This story keeps the original setting of Bobby's house in Sioux Falls, ND.  In this story, Sam Winchester needs to prove to the National Slave Registry that he is a fit master and can keep a handle on his delinquent 'brother.'Geenajay is better with the feels. So I diverge in that regard.  No wincest. No rape. Just good ole fashion slavery, slave training, family drama and romance.  Not sure if Castiel will fall for Dean, but it's possible.With Ruby dead, the Apocalypse was avoided.  A power vaccum surfaces when Crowley kills his mistress, leaving Demons to fight it out for control of Hell.If you haven't read Four-Five?  Do it.  One of my favorites.SonicoSenpai has agreed to co-author with me!  So Awesome.  So this can only get better.  Seriously, she's amazing!  Check her out.  Her smut is off the charts!So Please!  Ladies and Gentlemen.  Let's play nice.  No one wants to monitor comments.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [geenajay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geenajay/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Four-five](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7621738) by [geenajay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geenajay/pseuds/geenajay). 



In an old Victorian farmhouse off an old dirt road in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, two hunters stared at each other, each one having difficulty finding the right words to say. Bobby Singer tapped a finger on the old linoleum table in a slow steady rhythm. The only sound in the room until the older man finally spoke up.

“You say your chip went off? What in God’s name does that even mean?” Bobby asked with the squint of his left eye.

“Bobby. I’m a slave. Been one almost my whole my life… I got a chip in my noggin… just all the other little slave boys and girls… Just thought being dead would, I don’t know? Break it… guess I was wrong…” Dean said plainly, looking around the room.

“What in Sam Hill? Why did you not tell me?” Bobby said slapping the table, jostling the coffee cups. The Irish coffee cups. News like this called for alcohol. Even it was eleven a.m. “I’ve held your life in my hands, boy! Why the hell would you not tell me?”

“Sam. Didn’t tell you because of Sam. And Bobby? I don’t like talking about it. I don’t like thinking about it. I’d rather it not be true. I’d rather not have this damn thing embedded into my damn skull. Dad tried to get it removed… when he couldn’t… well… he just took me every five years to inspection. The only time I really think about. I am sorry Bobby. But until now? It’s been none of your damn business…”

“You watch your tone, boy. And it is my damn business if you’re holding up in my house. It is my damn business because we got to do something about this! And Soon!” Bobby growled getting more pissed and feeling more helpless by the minute.

“Bobby. There’s nothing to do. I came back… The chip started chirping, in like ten days… I’m due. We got to go down to one of the centers before those hounds come for me. And I don’t mean hellhounds. The law. With their gizmos and shock collars and work details. If I don’t show up with an owner? Those sons of bitches are gonna put me up on that block, man. And I am too fine of a piece of ass to work at fucking Applebees….”

“We’ll take care of it, Dean,” Bobby said slowly, seriously. He promised. Then he shook his head, feeling like he should have known… “Damn it John. That two-bit son of a whore. Why the hell did he keep this from me? We could have fought this. Hell we could have skipped the country! Permanent vacation in Sweden or Denmark or even fucking Turkey!”

“This is why, Bobby,” Dean said pointing his finger at the older man. “He thought you’d fight it. Hell, he knew you’d fight –and Bobby? He knows hard you fight… And really? He just kinda got used to it after a while. I mean, wonder why I always follow orders? I had to man. Every damn one of them. Or he’d promise to up and take me away from Sammy… Promised he’d take me away from you…Abandon me to some sick fuck who use me up like fucking toilet paper… I couldn’t tell you, Bobby…”

Bobby inhaled deep, pushing a brown envelope forward on the table, “Well. I got John’s will. Can’t believe I had it so long. Didn’t think the bastard had anything of value…. But I read five times today. Sam is to take possession. This is so fucked up…” Bobby said as he looked up at the ceiling, “Looks like I’m the backup. What’s gonna change boy? Anything?”

“Well, I don’t have work mojo on my neck tattoo anymore. I guess the secret’s out,” Dean said mostly relieved.

“You got one of those things? Don’t you boy?” Bobby said raising his eyebrows and rubbing his neck as he thought of the marks.

“Yeah, Bobby. We all do…” Dean bent his neck to show him. An intricate, ornate and curly “S” in closed a perfect circle. Bobby shivered a little as he looked at the thing. His boy. One of his boys. A damn slave… There was the damn proof. Winking at him like a hooker in Vegas. He pulled himself back.

“What’s Sam got to say? And where the hell is he?” Bobby asked looking around out the kitchen windows.

Dean just raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “Bobby? He’s outside balling. I don’t know what the hell to say to him. But he’s gotta put on some big boy pants and get me to Missouri. This thing pulses something fierce every hour or so. It’s gonna get worse…” Dean said carefully fingered the tattoo as he spoke.

Bobby’s eyes started to water as he looked at the boy who turned into a man. Only to have his future taken from him. First by his father, then by the state. “It hurts, don’t it, kid?”

“Yeah… yeah, it does. Sooner we get this done the better… Hey? Hope they don’t ask too many questions about the afterlife… I’ll just tell ‘em it’s Hell,” Dean said looking Bobby in the eye with a smile.

 

 

 

It was a sweltering day in Lawrence, Kansas in June. John found a space at the far end of the lot and parked his car. He got out and opened the car door to the back seat. He looked at two car seats, one of them of empty. He undid Dean’s buckles and let him catapult himself out of the seat. John was already beginning to sweat. Damn it was hot. It was hot and they were late.  

Late because the damn babysitter was late.  Missy.  Jesus.   He was going to have to talk to her. Not like this was not hard enough.  Not like raising two boys on his own was not hard enough.  Now he was paying someone to add some additional hell to his life.  John shook off the anger and tried to give Dean a smile.  He took the little boy by the hand. “You gotta hold my hand in the parking lot.” John led the kid into the Lawrence County Courthouse.  John looked down, Dean was all smiles.   
  
  
This was the most official and formal building he had ever been to. It was large and imposing.  Almost like the Justice League.  

Dean looked at the building in awe. Once they reached the sidewalk, Dean let go and started running. John chuckled. Then jogged after him. By the time John caught Dean’s hand again, Dean had stopped, staring at an ornate clock atop three tall thin marble archways leading into the building. Four tall Ionic order columns framed the arches. Filling the space between them were long narrow windows you couldn't see into. A pair of flat stylized heralds blew flat horns loomed over the giant glass door.  Dean wondered if this was what Church was like.  Not they had been since his mother's funeral.   
  
As John pulled the tall glass door open a rush of cool air hit them both. The mixture of granite and the marble lowered the temperature in the building compared to the hot June sun.

The Lawrence County Courthouse as the epitome of Art Deco and Modern Design. Three wide paths of white and grey checkered marble were outlined by the thinner black lines of the granite floor.  These lines like a yellow brick road, but these lines did not lead to Oz.  They led to government bureaucracy, corruption, punishment and a very flawed legal system.  Dean bent down to touch the brass inlays on the floor. John did not notice his son had stopped as he stared as the paths diverged.  County Jail, County Courts, and Slave Registration and Inspection.  
  
John inhaled.  Pulling his eldest to the path to right.  His nerves started to get the better of him.  He had to calm down.  At least baby Sammy was safe.  Being carefully watched by the sweet rotund babysitter, who asked John to call her Missy.  Even though John was sure that wasn't her name.  John had taken the day off of work to take Dean to the seventh layer of hell... the government slave office. John didn’t tell the babysitter where they were going. She learned to stay out of their business when Dean had tried to explain how his mother died.

John Winchester looked around at the tall narrow windows, small inlaid squares that were scattered around the floor in intricate patterns and the large marble blocks holding all variety of potted plants. John surveyed the opulent room in disgust. He knew the former history and purpose of those blocks. At the time of the building as erected, federal slave bureau required slaves to inspected in public and slave auctions held twice a week at the end of the day.

A large domed skylight illuminated the front lobby. John and Dean stood at the end of a very long line. The line and the heat were as oppressive as they were soul crushing.  Little Dean was five and a half, his father had been putting this off.  An official letter demanding their presence the only reason John made the cursed trip.  
  
Dean didn't understand much of any of this.  Not that he was told much anyway.  The memory of Mary’s death was still burning fresh in his young mind. Dean was beginning to read at school. He noticed the signs. He knew the one that said Slave. Slave had been written on separate restrooms, entrances, water fountains, and shops. John and Mary had taken him to rallies for freedom and equal rights. He liked the songs and chanted along with his father and mother. He clung to his father as they escaped police and avoided arrest.

Now Dean waited in the line marked Slave. John looked down at his boy. Mary always wanted a son or daughter. John remembered the long nights holding her tight, telling her there nothing was wrong with her. The baby would come. They tried so hard for so long. Mary had always been one for taking in strays and had always loved Dean like her own. John still ached for her. She had been such a positive force. She calmed him, centered him and now he felt lost.

John held the small hand tight even as his hand began to sweat. He allowed himself to silently remember how it all began.


	2. First Inspection

The thin braid of Mary’s hair that intertwined with a blue ribbon flapped in the wind on a gusty April night in Lawrence, Kansas. Mary got out of the car, opened John’s door and pulled him with both hands out of his seat. He couldn’t help but smile.

“John! It’s going to be okay. You really need to see this. Don’t be a baby!” she said teased harshly.

“Mary, I am just not sure this is such a good idea…” John hesitated.

“Seriously John. My editor wants this story by Tuesday. I have to go. Please. Just come inside,” she urged him on. Now taking a calmer tone.

“There’s no arguing with you is there?” he concluded. No way out of this one…

“Not usually… That’s why you married me. I keep you in line,” she leaned in and kissed him. The wind and her breath danced around him. She was magic.

She took him by the hand and led him into a stockyard. Twice a week it was used as a slave auction. The smell of manure and animal sweat mingled with the perfume and aftershave of the people sitting in rows waiting for the auction to begin. John looked around the place uncomfortable. Did he really make it through Vietnam, to fight for a country that allowed this?

The couple approached the entrance. A rough man with a black shirt and dirty jeans gave Mary a red paddle with the big block numbers 4501.

“We really need that?” John asked sourly. He knowing he had no intention of buying a human being tonight.

“Come on John, they do not let you in here without one. Think my reporter's badge is going to work here?” John shook his head… she could be such a smartass.

She choose seats, dead center. John held his breathe as he watch her, following her reluctantly. Of course, Mary did not mind calling attention to herself. She did not mind they stood out in their in second hand clothes and faint smell of pot. Mary did not mind at all. She had nothing on her mind but the cause. John watched her settle in and then start feverously scribbling in her worn moleskin notebook.

A loud ring shook the stockyard. This set John to attention, his nerves on higher alert. The commotion and noise that had taken the place over, fell to peaceful silence. A burly man in flannel and jeans led a young man by a leash. The tether fell to the ground as the handler unclasped it, leaving it lay strewn out on the wooden stage. The younger man smiled confidently running his fingers through a head of thick black hair. His olive skin reflecting the harsh lights of the stockyard almost at glow. The slaver shouted a handful of skills and levels of training. The young man flashed set of brilliantly white teeth as he took off his shirt and turned around. Small tattoos with ornate lettering ran down his spine from the base of his neck. He turned around, starting to remove his pants.

“Holy fuck, Mary! What is this place?” John whispered. Mary shushed him, putting her hand on his leg. This attempt to calm her new husband did not work. He cranked his neck to combat the tension that steadily grew.

The slaver completed the long list of attributes and started the bidding. The quiet yard bounced back to life. Paddles raised high all around them. This man was clearly the main event. The slave smiled clearly enjoying hearing the numbers climb. But the flash Mary caught in his eyes, made her wonder if this was not part of his training too.

The bell sounded again. The slave sold for $200,000.

John’s eyes widened and whispered, “That’s more than our house!” Mary nodded in agreement with a sad shake of the head.

This event marked John’s first and last slave auction. As they watch the parade of humanity’s rejected? John knew he’d never be back. He looked over at his pretty wife. This was for her.

She taken a job as freelance writer and became an ardent advocate for slave rights. Her boss had tasked her with writing a story with insight from the inside. A story to inform the general public about the conditions and degradations of an auction house. She scribbled again more fiercely in that brown moleskin notebook of hers. John wrapped his arms around himself, feeling a chill he was not sure was from the temperature. John Winchester had just returned from a rather long assignment in Vietnam with the Marines, just as Mary had finished her degree in Literature and Education. They had bought a small house and had begun trying to fill it with children. John was a mechanic and Mary wrote and taught school.

The slaver picked up his pace for the next five slaves.  Each one was bound and tied to hook in the center of the platform.  They did not perform.  They looked forward.  Some of them appeared to be praying.  All were between 35-55 years old.  The age when the only way out of debt is slavery.   
  
Then burly man tugged a slender trembling man, who talked to himself frantically, out of the yard.  Mary whispered to John, “That man is surely schizophrenic…”  The only bid was from a large imposing man with a sinister sneer.  Whatever he had planned could not be good.   
  
Mary’s hand flew to her mouth as the bell sounded again. “This is awful, John.”  He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her in.  
  
Children at these auctions were a rarity. Babies even rarer. Most did not have the facilities and most who got rid of their children did so because of a defect. To most buyers, the risk of getting a sick slave out weighted the benefit of a cheap sale. In those days, medical evaluation was optional.   
  
The bell sounded once more.  “Last slave on auction tonight!  We do not usually sell anyone younger than eight but this little guy just kind of landed in our lap so to speak.  Bring him out Jim!” The burly man, Jim, brought a ragged infant into the bright lights.   He looked no older than four months old.  He shrieked and kicked uncontrollably.  He was thin, dirty and pale.  He looked sick.  Jim held him out as far away from his body as possible, wincing at the noise and smell.  “The starting bid is $100.  We have one hundred!  Anyone else?”  The man wiped the sweat form his brow with a rag.   This was going to be a difficult sale. The crowd was quiet.  A few people were already gathering their things to leave.   
  
Mary Winchester looked around in a panic.  No one was going to claim this baby.   
  
John looked at his watch uncomfortably.   Mary jabbed him hard in the ribs.  He looked at her in angry confusion.  “What did I do?” He mouthed.  She huffed.  She held up the number.  John grabbed her other hand, trying to pull her down back into her seat but she shook his hand away.   
  
“NO! Mary!  Do not buy a baby!”  The words sounded absurd coming out of his mouth.  He tried to get the auctioneer’s attention.  “NO, NO, NO.”  He mouthed frantically waving his hands.    
  
The man shot him a sly smile.  “I have $100 do I hear $200?  $150?  $100 going one once!” John gave the auctioneer the look of death.  The man just smiled, laughing to himself, still scanning the crowd.  “Going twice?”  He paused and looked straight at John.  “Sold to the pretty lady!  4501!”  
  
“Oh, Fuck!” John said quietly wide-eyed.  Mary made her way down to the yard.  John scrambling, tripping on his feet, to catch up with her.   
  
Mary all but raced to the platform reached up her hands to Jim, who gratefully handed the crying baby over to her.  She took the baby and held him close.  He quieted immediately, grabbing on to her shirt with tiny tight fists.  This interaction elicited a few hushed awes and coos as the bell chimed, auction completed and final instructions were given.   
  
John did not look at the child.  “This is NOT over, Mary.  We cannot keep that baby,” John said through his teeth.  
  
“Of course not, but pay the man so we can find him a good home,” his pretty wife said at a coo, talking gently at the baby.   
  
“For Christ’s sake Mary, he’s not a goddamn puppy!”  
  
"Jonathon Winchester, I am not leaving this pit without this baby!  Go pay the man!” Her sweet eyes hardened as she spoke and hissed at a whisper.   
  
“Fucking hell, Mary… This is not a solution…” John growled as he obeyed, crossing the dirt yard. John bitterly found the claim desk and wrote a check with shaky hands for $100.   
  
“So there any returns on something like this?” John asked the desk clerk hopefully.   
  
The aged rotund man gave him a belly laugh pulling on a white beard.  “That woman of yours got you by the balls, son.  Not sure you are getting out this one.”  He shoved a big envelope full of papers and forms into John’s hands.  The young man took the papers with a glare and walked purposefully over to his wife and new “son”.   
  
John softened slightly as he watched them.  He and Mary had been trying to have children for a couple of years now.  He had a good job, he was a mechanic at a local shop.  They bought a little house on a quiet street.  Mary loved to take in strays, this boy was definitely a stray.  But seriously, how the hell were they going to get rid of this kid?

John put the papers under his arm approaching the new mother and child.  The baby smelled of so many bodily fluids, the man choked on the stench, but Mary did notice.  The little one lay on her chest in a contented sleep.  John fingered the hair around the black tattoo of an elaborate S on the base of his neck.   
  
“Poor kid,” he thought.  It looked red, swollen and angry. “Maybe this was the reason for all that noise?” he whispered to the little baby. The tattoo attempted to cover the scar that was directly over the implant used for tracking and identification.  John knew a little magic.   He learned some in the Marines.  He could probably cover the scar and tattoo temporarily.  The boy would have to go in for inspection every five years or so. He might be able to manage that.  He kissed the baby that had fallen as hard for Mary as he had.  All of these things John was well aware of.  He had doubt they mattered not to his pretty wife, who gently nuzzled her new baby boy.    

  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~

John eventually picked up little Dean and rocked him in his arms in the long line. He gripped him tighter when he saw a master a head in line take a cane to his slave. The swish and soft cry of the woman echoed through the too large room. John stared at one of the slaves muzzled and bound. A cattle prod held menacingly by his owner. All of them looked miserable and nervous. Most of them were dressed simply, keeping their eyes to the floor.

After the first hour, Dean had had enough. He started asking to go home. He wriggled out of John’s arms. John threatened to take him back to the car. Dean knew what that meant. He kept quiet for another 15 minutes.  
  
Then he started pulling at John’s arm. “Dad, do we have to do this? Why do we have to be here?”  
  
“Dean, I told you. This is an inspection. They are just making sure Daddy is being good to his little guy,” John forced a smile.  
  
“Why is that guy over there here?” Dean pointed to a giant of a man shackled and muzzled.  
  
His father shook his head. _Poor soul, probably a warrior from the ring the masters made or kept feral_ , John thought to himself. “Not sure, Dean.” His father said flatly, looking off far away.

“Dad…I have to go pee.” The Marine sighed looking down at his son, “You went two hours ago. You are going to have to wait.” “I wanna go home…” “I know, kid, just tough it out.”

Dean complained again 30 minutes later. John’s patience wore thin. He hated everything and everyone in the long line that inched forward. He grabbed Dean’s arm slowly increasing his grip. He uttered a warning that sent the boy into hysterics. John looked up and prayed a violent prayer. Then tried to calm the boy down. The shrieks increased. The looks and sideways glances turned to yelled bits of advice and threats. A man in a uniform asked the two to follow him. Dean screamed and peed as they were lead out of line.

A stern woman in a blue polyester uniformed pointed the way to the two front of line. John followed the thin woman. She walk purposefully as two double door swung open at her click of a remote. She so fucking fancy, John thought. She's got a goddamn garage opener. She directed them to a room marked B9 and handed a bag. Failing to give any further instructions.

John dumped out the contents of the bag on a table. He gasped in revulsion. The bag contained small restraints and an instruction booklet. He read the warnings on the booklet and almost forgot where he was. It said were the instructions not followed exactly, the state had the right to take the slave away, immediately. John was a solid man. He had been through and seen a lot of hell. Not much could phase him but those words caused his hands to shake violently enough that he dropped the booklet three times.

John removed all of Dean’s clothes. His child compliant in that regard, but nervous and distrustful. Those large green eyes looked back sad and questioning. Then John sadly put the restraints on the small arms and legs. Dean just pulled at the chains and thick padded brown leather. The young father picked the boy up and held him close, placing Dean’s soiled clothes in the bag the restraints had been in. He willed himself to open the door to the next room carrying the small child walking on unsteady legs.

It contained a shower and instructions. John shook his head and moved to the next room. There were a doctor and an official. The doctor opened his arms and mouthed to John, “It’s going to be okay.” John handed the boy over reluctantly. Dean spouted a flurry of noes, pleases and Daddy’s. The official offered John a seat and set to filling out his form.

After the doctor left with the child and silence fill the room the official tried to make petty conversation.

“I have little one’s too, Sir. Some days are just like that.”

“Yeah, the days when you have to drag your boy to some sadistic government branch of hell. Yeah. Those days are exactly like that…” Johns said bitterly.

“Sir,” the man said looking up and meeting John’s eyes. “We’re just trying to make sure you are handling the boy properly and that no abuse is taking place.”

“Right,” John said sarcastically.

“Alright then,” The official said slowly. “So is this how little Dean normally behaves?”

“No, he’s terrified. This is how he behaves when he’s terrified. When some bureaucratic nuts require his father to take him to a den of sin and depravity,” John all but spit. In no mood to play nice.

“Please, Sir, just answer the questions,” the man said exhaling straight into the paperwork.

“No, he is a normal five-year-old.”

“Fine. Does he mind you? Does he follow directions as they are given?”

“He’s five so he’s about 50/50 on a good day,” John said smiling.

“Okay, what sort of punishment do you institute in your home, when he does not mind?”

“Well, I lost my wife a year ago, she did not want to me to take a hand to the boys, I have honored that.”

“So no consequences?”

“I didn’t say that. I said no physical consequences. I take away cartoons, send him to his room, time out, and teach him how to breathe through his frustration and anger. He’s a pretty good kid.”

“You do know where you are Sir? You understand what your boy is?”

“Yeah. But I raise him like he’s my son because he is.”

“I understand, but you understand that he is not right? That when he grows up, he will have to serve you or another master. If you teach him how to live like a freeman and then take it away… well, I do not know anything crueler.”

“I believe slavery will be abolished again… I fight and write letters every damn day of my life…” John growled.

“Of course you do. Sir, because he is so very young, I am going to let you keep him, but if you come back here in five years and he does not know his place I am going to recommend immediate removal. I have assigned you some training classes. I hope they can help. You have a good heart. But I would hate for that boy to have to grow up somewhere else because you couldn’t be a strong enough master. With you is probably the best place for him.”

John paled as the official handed him more papers to sign, handouts and brochures to keep  
The doctor came back with Dean in his arms. The small blond boy sucked happily on a small lollipop.

“Everything checks out! Healthy as a horse and handsome. Jesus, the resale on this one is going to astronomical! When he comes of age, of course. You are a lucky man,” the doctor said pulling up his cheek, looking to John for a nod.

John just eyed the doctor with a hate that all but filled the damn room.

The doctor huffed, turning his attention to the small boy, jostling him for a minute. “Well, here he is. Thank you for being such a good patient!” The doctor set the boy down on the ground and gave him a pat on the bottom. Dean struggled to run in the restraints to his father who picked him up in a hug.

“We’ll leave you to dress him, just give this paper to the clerk and someone will contact you in a few days,” the official said, exhaling slowly.

John put his undershirt on the boy and carried him to the car.

“Daddy?” Dean asked looking up at his father, “Daddy, am I a slave?”

“Not with me you’re not,” John assured him, rubbing his small head with a sad smile.


	3. Sam's First Inspection

Dean let Sam drive the old black muscle car. But he picked the music. AC/DC makes the worst car trips better... Even if the destination is hell itself. Thundershock blarred through the ancient speakers as Sam Winchester drove them to the closest registry in Omaha, NE.

 

Sam seethed as he drove.

Dean looked over to him. "Dude! Stop choking up on the steering wheel! Your gonna hurt her feelings..." Dean shot Sam a charming smile.

Sam just glared at him.

"You could have told me. You know that right? You could have told me after Dad died. You could have told me any other time before today! What the hell, Dean!"

"It's not something I like to talk about. And you where all fucking weird with all those powers. Dad? I mean Dad would beat me raw and sold my ass if I told you..."

"You remember he died? You could have... I don't know... Mentioned it then?"

"Bitch, bitch, bitch," Dean said dismissively. "You know now. What are you complaining about?"

"I know because Bobby told me. Bobby. He had to do it."

"I didn't know how you'd take it. Dude. You kinda have me by the balls. My life is in your hands. It kinda drove Dad nuts..."

"Seriously? Didn't know how I'd take it? You’re  my fucking brother. How the hell am I supposed to take it?"

"You could sell me, you know? Be set for a long time..." Dean said distantly out the window.

"Screw you. I could sell you? That is what you have to say for yourself? How about I'm sorry?"

"I'm sorry. Okay? I'm sorry you got saddled with me. Hand me over to them... I don't care."

"You are so melodramatic! No, I am not going to sell you! You are my brother. You have always been my brother and always will be my brother. Family doesn't end in blood and it doesn't have to start there either. So until slavery gets abolished, I'll play master for these pricks and we'll carry on, Dean. We'll just carry on..."

Dean sniffed a little nodding, looking out the window. Feeling a weight lift off his shoulders.

 

A weight that replaced itself promptly after Sam pull into the courthouse. Sammy was so not ready for this...

 

Sam looked passed everything and moved quickly through the building. Shoulders back, pretending to be the man he did not feel like he was. Dean followed behind him. Sam felt it. The chill of his older brother not being by his side, but behind him.

Sam stared blankly at the large brass sign that spelt MASTER and SLAVE.

Sam and Dean filed in behind a well-dressed ebony woman. She wore a coral suit and with a watch that matched, matching her shoes. Shoes that tapped softly and impatiently. She stood in front of Sam. Her slave stood next to her in jeans and a t-shirt. He was tall, redheaded, freckled and pale. Sam looked blankly at the tattoo on the back of his neck. He looked back at Dean with a huff.

The line moved very slowly. So slowly, water was brought, bathroom breaks were given. The point was to see how the owners dealt with their slaves. Classes from certified instructors would be bought if the owner were too harsh with their slave. Several pairs where pulled out of line and sent to different lines.

Hours passed. Inch by inch, Sam and Dean finally reached the front of the line.

The teller looked at Sam and looked at Dean. She rolled her shoulders and said, “You are going to have to give that one a bath. Would not hurt your case to take one yourself.”

Sam looked at the teller quizzically, “What?”

“YOU WILL HAVE TO CLEAN HIM!” She enunciated loudly.

“Yeah, I heard. But how and where? Do I need to go and come back?” Sam tried with all he had to be polite and not fuck this up. Bobby had warned him to not act like a complete jackass or they'd take his brother away on the spot.

She exhaled wearily. “You must be new to this. Put these on him. Instructions are listed on the bag. Do not lose or throw away the bag. After he has been secured, you will walk him to the showers, there is a charge of that. Wash him, thoroughly, then he will need to come out to the next room. Naked, for the examination. Like I said, it would be better for the both of you if you took a shower too. Everything is going to have a scale,” the official recited in a monotone.

“Go into G4. Put the restraints on him there.”

“This is ridiculous,” Sam whispered.

They walked into room G4. It was a small room. Instructions were printed in large simple instructions written on a sign, secured to the wall.

 **_1\. Secure your slave._ **  
**_2\. Bring him/her naked to the next room. Pay for a shower if needed._ **  
**_3\. Dry him/her off and proceed to the next room for examination and questioning._ **

**_The purpose of this registration is to ensure the safety and well-being of your slave and you. You may be asked to take classes or have at home instructions. Failure to do so will result in forcible removal of your slave._ **

_In Accordance with the Slave Health and Safety act. All potential buyers should have taken a government approved class on discipline, safety and wellness._  


The instructions showed a man and a woman in hand and feet cuffs, secured together by a chain that ran from their hands to their feet. Arms should be secured behind the Slave’s back.

“Did you ever do this with Dad?”

Dean frowned and nodded slowly.

“Well, this is awful. Okay, I guess take it all off?”

“You have to do it.”

“What?”

“You have to do it. There are cameras, Sam. You have to show I am obedient and polite. You need to show that you are taking good care of me and keeping me in line. Sam, please.”

“Okay, okay. We’ll do this…” Sam began to unbutton Dean’s shirt. “This feels kinda like when you were getting ready for prom…Except, maybe the opposite was happening.”

“Trust me this is nothing like prom. And you are not Ellie Thompson.”

“Yeah, yeah… There is the shirt, the belt and pants… and shoes… and pants.”

Sam was nervously doing all these things. Dean was getting worried. He knew he could not act unruly or tell Sam what to do.

Dean was completely naked. Sam placed his clothes and effects in the bag provided.

“Alright. Put your hands behind your back. There we go…And feet and done,” Sam said clinically.

Dean should have told Sammy how Dad acted. That he was rough, rude and coarse. This is how they wanted a slave owner to act. In control. He just could not form the words in his mouth. He had been twenty-five, eighteen and ten years old. He could not tell Sam how his Dad knocked him around. How he talked about using the belt, the spankings, and the paddle. John always passed with flying colors. Each time, they said that John should teach classes in slave management. John just grunted and uttered a thank you. Dean knew they were going to finger and examine every part of him. Like he was an animal. He knew not to flinch too much, or pull away. If he had John would discipline him right there. Which he had done the first time they went through this ordeal.

Sam carried the bag into the other room. He left Dean behind.

“Oh! Come on.”

Dean did not move and shook the chain a little.

“Oh, okay.” Sam grabbed the chain and led him into the shower.  
  
  
Sam pressed a smile and paid for a shower, taking one first. He dried off with the provided towels. Then it was Dean’s turn.  
  
The shower had a diagram fastened to the wall. Hooks and solid bars jutted out the wall and were in place to secure the slave with legs apart and arms high in the air.

Sam secured Dean to the walls. The diagrams showed the rest. Big letter read “Please pay special attention to the genitals. There is a detailed examination in the next room, please do your part to ensure the cleanliness of your slave.”

Dean was splayed out and praying that Sammy would man up. Sam used the washcloth to carefully wash Dean everywhere. He was clearly uncomfortable. Sam was careful and meticulous. Dean grew harder with all the handling. Sam dropped as if it was a slug and moved on. He dried Dean off carefully, then led him into the next room. Again there was a diagram that showed how Dean should be secured. A doctor looked in Dean’s mouth, ears, eyes, nose, and anus. A speculum was inserted to make sure there was no tearing or trauma. Dean did everything he was supposed to.

 

If only that was true for Sam.

An official had a series of questions for Sam as Dean knelt naked beside him. 

“Okay, Mr.… Winchester. How long have you owned Dean, here?”

“Well uhh… two days after my father passed away, three years ago. Dean is like a brother to me. We were raised together.”

“Huh… Okay… What do you two do for employment?”

“We both work with my Uncle out at his shop in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Dean was trained as a mechanic and I run the books.”

“Good, good. Do you loan Dean out for services?”

“No! …Um, no he just works with us.”

“Does Dean drive, go out on his own, and buy his own clothes?”

“Yeah?” Sam answered wondering if he was asking how slow Dean was.

“Okay… How do you discipline Dean? He has a lot of scars, they look old enough to be from your father… but what form of discipline do you use?”

“I don’t. He’s my brother.”

“Huh… You have never done this have you?”

“No,” Sam smiled, “How am I doing?”

“Can I be honest? If you had not inherited this young man and if he was not so... attractive? I would take him away from you immediately.”

“What?” Sam forgot himself and growled.  Getting up, both hands on the table.

“Calm down, sir, sit down…” the man said sternly, “With this man’s history with the police, trouble in school, and his aggressive tendencies, he really needs a firm hand. You should go and buy yourself some discipline tools.” The man shook his head, “Maybe a paddle or whip… the next time he gets drunk and disorderly, you should take a hand to him. I am going to recommend a handler come to your place of residence and help you implement some rules and discipline.”

“Why?” Sam was getting angry but breathing deep in and out of his nose, trying to keep himself under control.

The man sighed. “If you owned a pit bull and that pit bull was aggressive and dangerous and you made no effort to either contain or train him, the state would take him away from you. It is the same way with a slave. If you people insist on owning another human being, then you need to take care of them and take responsibility for them. This young man of yours is dangerous. I am going to recommend that your discipline implement is kept with you at all times. If you two are traveling, and are stopped, you are going to have to prove you have it with you. And Dean? You get in trouble before the next time I see you, I am going to recommend an overseer if this one can pay for it and doesn’t want to get rid of you. You boys really need to be careful. I see a lot more bad than good here. Dean? You do not want to go on that block again. The odds of you finding someone, this… native are very low.”

Sam nodded his head slowly. Dean got a little paler. This was going much worse than he thought. They were going to be grounded at Bobby’s for ten weeks and have a goddamn sadist come over and teach Sam how to beat Dean… once a week and charge them for it.

Sam got Dean dressed and returned the restraints. As they exited, Dean let Sam walk ahead of him. Sam could not help but notice brother’s posture bent, huddled in shame, he stared at the ground, behaving like a beaten dog.


	4. The Shop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Discipline warnings apply. If this is not your kink? Skip to the bottom. There's a summary :)

_The sun loomed high in the sky that sweltering August in Omaha, NE. Sam Winchester squinted his eyes, shading them with his hands from the blare of white concrete of City Hall. Sam took a breath for the first time since they told him to take his slave and leave. Sam moved those overly long legs of his at breakneck speed, hustling in and out of pedestrians, stumbling on cracks in the concrete, and narrowly avoiding a police officer engaged with his partner._

_“Hold on there, Son!” the officer in blue called out._

_Sam not even phased, “Sorry… Just… I’m sorry…” Sam continued quickly, hoping that getting to the parking lot would ease some of this anxiety._

 

Dean struggled to keep pace. He stared harshly at his brother. Wanting to call out and chide him for losing his freaking mind. He held his tongue. His little brother was not his little brother any longer. Sam owned him. And if Dean wanted that to continue he needed to act the part.

"Dean, we can't go anywhere without that... thing the guys talked about."

"You mean the paddle, Sammy. Just say the words. It'll make you feel better."

"Don't need you being an ass right now. Fuck this is crazy. What the hell are we going to do, Dean?"

"Sammy, don't lose it on me. Sam. You cannot lose it. And you cannot let them take me away. Seriously do whatever they want you to do. Just. I am so scared, man. Just don't let them sell me. It'd be worse Sam. I swear it'd be worse..."

“I know Dean, I know. But, seriously, knowing how to act at this thing would have been helpful. You need to start being a hell of lot more honest with me.” Sam was shaking his head. He chuckled a little. Feeling a little more power over his big brother than he ever felt before. “Or I guess I’ll spank you…”

Sam looked over to his brother for a smile. All he got was Dean going a little pale.

“Dude. Joke. That was a joke. Okay, not on the list of things cool to joke about. Duly noted. Seriously, we should go to the fucking S&M shop and pick out your… thing… Okay. Paddle.” Sam stuck out his tongue. The last word tasting and feeling weird on his tongue.

“Dean, really. We are in a mountain of shit. Why? Why didn’t you brief me? This was a mission and I fucked it up because I did not get all the damn intel,” Sam said knocking the car with a fist.

Dean shrunk. “Just couldn’t tell you, Sam! Dad treated me like a damn dog in there. It was awful. I couldn’t destroy your image of the man.”

“Dean. We are way past that. Our father beat you, threatened you, and God knows what else you haven't told me. I have no idea how he escaped hell. If I ever find him, I am going to put him back there.”

“Okay. Okay… maybe it was my image of him. He did act like a father most of the time.”

Sam leaned against the car, trying to pay attention but the mound of paperwork given to him. It was beyond overwhelming. He sorted through it, reading as fast as he could. "According to this, I need to keep a log. Oh… Oh! There’s an app! …Sorry.”

Dean rolled his eyes.

Sam continued. “The dates need to line up. Awesome… Pictures? This is beyond fucked up. Okay, I guess we don’t need to drive. The place we need to go is just up the road. Let’s walk.”

Dean followed Sam up the hill into the city. Down a deserted alley was a shop with two signs.

Lovers and Slaves with arrows pointed in opposite directions. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

 

Dean followed Sam down a long staircase to the basement. A small blond man in a tight black t-shirt and tight blue jeans greeted them.  He had small blue eyes, short blond hair and looked to be amused by just about everything.  Sam liked him immediately, Dean found 100 reasons to not trust him.  First and foremost.  They were in a damn beat-the-shit-out-of-slaves shop and this guy?  Looked a little too interested.  

“Lemme guess, Master,” he pointed at Dean, “And Servant,” he pointed at Sam.

Sam shook his head slowly.

“Oh!” The man looked over Sam who looked to be growing more agitated.

“Oh. Don’t stress, I can help. I’m Jacob,” Jacob shook Sam’s hand and after that gave all his attention to the master. “We’ll get you set up in one of our rooms…” They followed the man into a pink room with a slightly raised beige pedestal.  Drawers with brass handles lined the walls.

“You! Yum… Go and get undressed and show us what you go,” Jacob said directly.

Dean looked surprised. The man shook his head, looking at Sam with sympathy. “This one does need help! We’ll get him behaving in not time,” Jacob inhaled and looked Dean in the eye. Treating him like an errant child. “Go into the dressing room. Take off your clothes and then come out.” Jacob said slowly enunciating every word.

Dean blushed and smiled nervously, ducking into the dressing room.

Sam handed the man the prescription he was given at the federal office.  
  
“Oh! You are going to need some tools and a case. And maybe a lesson or two… You do not want to let this one get away. How did you get one so handsome?” Jacob asked with a smile. 

Sam pressed his lips hard. “He’s my brother. My dad died and ownership transferred to me. I have never hit my brother before. I do not think I can do it…” Sam said as his breath hitched, talking himself out of crying. He looked around the room lost and fearful.

“Oh… that is sad. Well, we’ll show it’s not so bad,” the small man offered a gentle hand on Sam’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry. There is kind of a formula for those who do it right. You just need to be consistent. He will need to feel you are in charge and think about consequences. Looks like in 1983? Your dad had some lessons.”

“What?” Sam asked confused. He didn’t remember any of that. Of course, he’d have still been in diapers.  
  
“Yeah, looks like your dad had to have some training too. This kid was a little beast. They had to show him how to handle him. Ho! Sexual training? Weird. They so don’t recommend that anymore. Poor kid.” The man bit his lip and thought. “We should get started.”

Sam watched Jacob comb through the paperwork. Jez, when you spelled it out on paper, Dean was a criminal. The charges ranged from grave desecration, resisting arrest, drunk and disorderly, escaping arrest… the list went on.

Dean walked out, red faced and shaken.

“Go on, pet, get on the pedestal. Turn around, kitten. Good boy! My, he is handsome!”

Dean spun around, hands cupping his jewels, now looking very annoyed and uncomfortable.

Jacob looked to be considering options. He rifled through one of the drawers in the wall.

“Now, since we are brothers here, let’s give Dean some privacy. This is going to be hard enough. Here…” The man gave Dean a g-string. “It’s a little restrictive. Sometimes it is natural to get excited when experimenting with these types of things. This will help keep it under control.”

Dean took it and went back into the dressing room, maneuvered the thing as best he could.

“You look stunning,” Dean heard Jacob say as he opened the dressing room door again. A chill chased down his spine settling somewhere deep and uncomfortable.

“Seriously. Does he date? No? Okay…” Jacob rolled out a long padded table from one of the drawers in the wall. “Okay! Just lean over the long part. There. Very nice. Let’s hike it up a bit, you are pretty tall… There we go. Okay, Dean. Look into the mirror. I need to make sure we don’t hurt you too badly.”  
  
Dean furrowed his eyebrows. What the fuck was going on? Didn’t they just need to buy something and get the fuck on the road?

Sam saw his face. It spurred him to action. “What are we doing?” Sam asked timidly.

“You came in with a prescription. From your paperwork, you have never taken a class and before I send you home with a weapon to whip your boy here, I need to show you how to do it. You can then make your purchase. Unless you don’t care if he gets taken…”

Sam started to ring his hands. “Do we really need a mirror?” Dean looked at the two with eyes caught in headlights. Were they really doing this? What a fucking day!

“Oh, honey! I know! But it makes this easier. You will not have to ask if it is too hard or soft or whatever… You will see it on his face. This is a private room. The government makes sure we are not filming or anything nasty. Just relax. We will get you what you need.”

“Okay, Dean, I have to ask you a question. Do you want hold the bar or can I restrain you. I am going to warn, you if you let go, I will have to punish you… so what is going to be?”

Dean gulped, shaking it off. “Restrain me, it’s fine,” Dean said mechanically.

“Okay! Here we go. Just like that… Now we lift the table.” Dean felt a crank as hiss feet were now off the floor. “It’s easier. He won’t have to stand too long. He also won’t be able to brace himself. He’ll bruise less.”  

“Now, let’s talk. What are you looking for? Something stingy or slappy?”

Sam looked around the room again avoiding looking at his brother trussed up and ready for discipline.

“I don’t know. I don’t really want to do this,” Dean saw Sam’s distaste in the mirror. It was mildly comforting.

“Okay, well from the look of this paper… You are going to have to. Seems Dean has been a pretty bad boy. His record is your record, you know? Okay? Humm. I know a lot about these. From the look of things, they are going to want to see… discipline for rule breaking, law breaking, disobeying orders, you know… the usual. If Dean can make it a month without an infraction, you will have to document a maintenance session. Okay, I’ll explain all of this. When you meet your appointed counselor, they will give a color guide. It is nice, it takes the guess work out of everything. You will use you implement until the skin is the color in the color guide. Here I have one. See Easy!

“Okay, for here, we are going to focus on the rump. A facilitator with help teach you more skills, but this is the safest for now. Now, you are going to want to designate a punishment area. This is going to be somewhere you can tell Dean to go. Wait for you. Get out the implement and get ready. Because you failed this court thingy, you are going to have to keep a log for about two and half years. Then if he is a good boy, you can make your own decision about color and so on. Until then, spank his bare little bottom so it is the appropriate color (or over) and take your picture.” Jacob made an aside to Sam, “Don’t send pictures of your own ass or anyone other than Dean… They do not think it is funny and you will pay a fine and for ten more weeks of classes…”

Jacob walked over to Dean and began rubbing his bottom, grabbing and touching. Dean tried to send hate through the mirror reflection unsuccessfully.   
  
“See, what a nice butt! The thing about discipline is that too much can actually change the thickness of the bottom. You feel like you have not been licked in years! You can literally tan someone’s hide, then you need strike harder and harder and use different implements. We see this in the public sector but not so much in the slave sector because of new strides in education. You should not give more than two sessions a week in the same area. That will harden his skin and if that happens, he will be taken away immediately.”

“Another thing before we get to the fun part, lighting. You can use a light pink light, it saves a little of the bottom. We’ll use that here.” Jack flipped a switch, “So you can get a feel for what you are going to need to get the job done. Just don’t try using a red one. You are not the first master to have problems with a naughty little slave because you did not want to keep him in line. They’ll know.”

Jacob placed a 5-point color scale on the table. It was varying degrees of pink to deep red.

“We are going to give Dean, here, a spanking to the card and log you in a discipline session...”

Dean looked around the room in an absolute panic. What the fuck?

Then the little man took Sammy’s phone away and his small fingers flew over the screen. “Let me see your phone… Here, your app is ready to go… We’ll type in this number and great! We are ready. Offense? We are going to call it Maintenance. There. Okay… Damn. It says 4. Because this is your first time. They might want you to know you can get to most of the numbers. 4 is pretty red. He might cry. Just hug him and tell him he did very well.”

Dean tried to catch Sam’s eye. Dean felt trapped and he was. He pulled against the straps, testing the strength. Damnit. He needed back up. This was really going to happen? Four out of five? No good betting odds in Vegas. “Help,” he mouthed as Sam looked away.

“I’ll pull out my basic equipment and this will tell us what you are looking for. I will use one of these on Dean and you pay attention to his face.”

“Okay,” Sam sniffed.

“Here: the cane, the paddle, the strap, the whip. Let’s try the cane…I pull back and….” The cane swished down onto Dean’s sit spot. Dean jerked the table. “Owe!” Dean said in a breathy and distressed exhale.

“See this one will make the most impact and you will pull fewer swings but you will have to listen to that.”  
  
Dean sighed a breath of relief as Sam looked panicked.

“Yeah, I thought maybe you would not like that,” Jacob said as he put down the rod.

“Then why the hell did you hit me with it?” Dean asked irritated.

“Keep quite Dean! I do not want to have to add swats,” Jacob eyed Dean, the slave looked to the floor.

“Okay the leather paddle, Easy to use, wide impact, it can be quick and loud. Or take a long time but not make much noise. It seems to me you would need wooden one, and leather one. The wooden for travel, with holes its much quieter. The leather one for every day at home. It will be the quickest and leave least the long lasting marks.”  
  
“I do not want to use a wooden one. Dad used that on us and it was hell,” Sam looking far off. Not wanting to go back to a place, Dean still was.

“I understand. You can always carry the leather one with you and just use your belt if you have to,” Jacob said moving on. “Let me show you what I have in terms of leather. I think you will be happiest with one of these.”

Jacob got out a drawer and the drawer turned into a table. “Just pick them up and feel the heft and decide which one fits your hand and then I will try it out and you can decide.”

“This one has a really comfortable handle…” Sam said surprised.

“Yes, that one is made from a memory foam, it’s remarkable how…”

“Can we move this along? I am freezing over here,” Dean interrupted.

In one motion, Jacob grabbed the cane and swish! The cane hit the exact spot as before. Dean exhaled a panicked yelp. He looked around the room, in the reflection, anywhere. Sammy, say something!

Instead, Jacob grabbed Dean’s ear and pulled down. “You listen here. This is hard enough on him. He is trying to keep you off the block, not using you to satisfy some sadistic whim. Learn your place! I have many more people come here from the bureau to find a way to not beat their slaves. That is some sick shit.”

Jacob pulled up his hair reveling a series of ornate letters that ran down his back. “I am trying to help you both. Now behave!” Jacob landed another quicker swish on the middle of his bottom.

Dean looked down and nodding his head.

“Because the number is so high, we are going to warm Dean up a little. It’ll make it easier on him, I promise.”

 

Sam scrunched his face, clearly the master had no idea what was going on.

Jacob suppressed a smile as he looked Dean over. Job perk for one please?

Jacob chose a lightweight flat leather paddle. The thing was flexible and if applied gently, made very little noise. Jacob started slapping Dean’s ass lightly. Dean looked hard into the mirror, trying see this bastard and what his game was.

“A warm-up Dean. A little primer to hold the paint. A spit before the shine. A little grease defore the grind. I could go on. Trust me…”

The slaps continued as Jacob continued his conversation with Sam.

“So you from Omaha originally?” Jacob asked Sam trying to make small talk.

Sam looked back incredulously. He shook his long hair.

“I know it seems like a long time…” After ten minutes of continual soft swats, Dean began pull up on his bottom. The pain was beginning to build steadily.

“See? We just want to set him jumping a little. Just five more minutes.”

 

_Dean groaned. The leather slapping him over and over right on his sit spot. Jesus, what kind of sadist wants submission during a punishment. It was so hard. Don’t move while I wail on you. Such an insane thing to ask someone. Staying still and polite was almost worse than the physical punishment._

_Dean’s hips started pull up and shift._

 

Sam chose one of the paddles and handed it to Jacob.  Jacob tapped Dean to get his aim and to prepare him. Dean tried to keep his eyes on the floor. It was difficult to have Sam watch this. The last time Sammy had to watched their dad lay into Dean, Dean was 18 years old.

Jacob pulled back the paddle and SMACK! Dean let out a small cry, then tried to shake it off and smile. He had done this when they were kids.

Jacob shook his head.

“It’s going to hurt, baby boy. You are not going to be able to keep up a brave face through all of this. It’s just too hard and not necessary.”

Dean nodded and looked down again. Tears began to fall on the floor. Jack pull back the paddle and let if fall again. Dean’s cry was louder. “You are being so good, Dean!” Jacob rubbed Dean’s bottom a little. “See, we are at Level 1. That is good. Now, you need to try Sam. You are going to need to do this.”

“I am okay, maybe you should finish.”  
  
“Sam, you do not have a choice. Unless you have the money for an overseer. But, they are pretty sadistic and expensive. They would be horrible and beat him. Sam, man up, boy, here you go.”  
  
Sam took the paddle. “I’m sorry.” Sam pulled it back and WHAM!

The table was pushed forward and propelled Dean head-first into the mirror.  
  
Dean groaned miserably.  
  
“OH MY GOD… Umm, that was terrible. Sam it is a flick of the wrist! Flick. Of. The. Wrist. Damn.” Jacob and Sam pulled the table back.

Dean had a red mark on his forehead. Dean shook his head. Somehow rattling sense back. “WOW,” Dean mouthed.

“Oh, God!” Sam rushed over to his brother. Dean mouthed, “I’m okay.” After Sam was satisfied his brother was okay. He walked back to Jacob.

“Let’s try this again, a flick of the wrist. No power, just work. Guide it to him. You wail on him you will lose him. And he might just hit you back. This is a punishment not a fight.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“Here. Take a step back and flick.” Sam practiced flicking. Even at quarter power, the paddle made a resounding SMACK. Dean’s eye opened wide as he tried not to wail.

“Wow, you are really strong! You go on dates? No, okay. Let’s pull out the color chart. Okay, looks like you are at 3. I would say ten more like the last one and we can finish up here.” Jacob paused and looked at Dean. “Okay, handsome, if you are just going to grit and bare it, I am going to give you this.” It was a piece of leather that fit in Dean’s mouth and tied together at the back. “Bite down on this, don’t break those gorgeous teeth!”

“Now, just ten more and we will check color. Try and do it quick now.” Sam issued forth a volley of ten loud SMACKS. By the end, Dean was sobbing and miserable. Jack checked the color. It was a definite level 4. Jack took a picture and sent it in.

Jack unhooked Dean and let the Sam collect Dean in his long arms. Dean shook his head and backed away.

“I’m okay, Sammy. I’m okay.”

“Well Sammy, you did a great job. You too, Dean! Here let me ring you up. There is your case. I am including the cane, you might have to use it, if that one decides to cop more attitude. You be good to him, Dean. Sam did not put you where you are. He is trying to keep your life as normal as possible. Be a good boy.”  
  
Sam paid Jack, tipped him, gave him a warm handshake and pursed lip goodbye. Dean was angry and trying not to show it. After they had gotten back to the car, Dean handed the keys to Sam.  
  
“I just want to lay in the back if that’s okay,” Dean said gruffly.  
  
"Sure, sure, Dean. You okay?”  
  
After they were both in the car, Dean laid in, “What the fuck, Sam. Seriously? What was that?”

“Dean, we had to go there,” Sam reminded him, turning the key in the ignition.

“Yeah, you did not need to enjoy it or give that freak have free reign on me!” Dean ruffed back.

“Yeah, I did,” Sam said turning his head to the backseat, “I have no idea what the hell is going on. I just know that dude at the bureau scared the shit out of me. He said he would have taken you, Dean. Did you miss that? And what the fuck, enjoy it?” Sam barked back offended.

“I don’t know, my head is killing me. I did not like being handled again. I do not like that you are going to take  
over Dad’s role… Beating me raw.”

“Dude, I am so sorry. I will try to learn how to do this so it has the least impact, but this is our reality.”

“Yeah, I know. I am just glad you have not given up on me. Me and my red ass.”

“Jesus, that it was.”

“It is, Sammy. It is.”

“Alright, 8 hours until we hit Bobby’s.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean walk into a sex shop. They are treated to a free session. Sam buys a paddle. There. Now you're caught up. ;)


	5. Whiskey and Angels

Being a Slave in 1978 was awful.

It was pretty much the worst of all possible situations with the exception of a work camp. Abuse of the system rampant. Slavery held as sad reminder or societies ills. The system not unlike the injustice minorities face in our current political system. The poor stay poor, the rich get richer and the middle class hold on to everything they have in fear of being dropped down the level of those beneath them. It was that unwillingness to give up capital that keeps a corrupt system in place.

The modern system of slavery began with the election of the 15th president of the United States in 1865: James Bucannon. During the election, Bucannon ran on a proslavery platform and carried the entirety of the South in his election. But the Panic of 1867 drastically changed his perspective of the subject. The North saw a drastic increase in unemployment, the South remaining unscathed. While Bucannon knew the South relied on Slavery for its economy, the North was facing increasing unemployment and lawlessness. The new president looked around at his Northern neighbors and saw the growing prison system, the first hints of industrialization, homeless children and the increasing debtor’s prisons.

History books credit Bucannon for narrowly avoiding a Great Civil War. Through his charm and leadership, James Bucannon united the North and the South by introducing a National Registry for slaves. The document essentially freed all current slave with the intention of replacing them with another type of slave. The kind, Bucannon felt deserved it.

The idea of slavery, in Bucannon’s mind, focused too much on race, which in itself was despicable and fundamentally unfair. The system barely tolerable in the South, left a foul taste in the mouths of the North. The publication of Uncle Tom’s Cabin succeeded in humanizing a part of the population previously regarded as subhuman. Using slavery as system of punishment and debt relief was a brilliant and palatable solution to the current system. So thought most of the voting public. The South could have their cheap labor but the source would not fundamentally stem from race. Bucannon believed all men to be created equal but there were those that needed to keep under control and out of the system.

Bucannon knew creating a new slave race would be essentially too much like the previous system. Under the National Registry, a slave’s children could not, under any circumstance, be sold in to slavery. Abolishing the incidence of slavery passing from generation to generation. Slavery created a way to profit off free or nominally priced labor, all but eradicated crime and prisons, and created a valuable incentive to stay out of dept. Still considered property, Parents could sell their children, up and until their sixteenth birthday.

 

Sam and Dean knocked on Bobby’s door at 11 pm. Bobby answered the door with a shotgun and then a smile.

“Bobby, I’ve been calling you,” Sam explained, knowing full well of the imposition they were about to cause their uncle.

“Just couldn’t find the damn phone. Why the hell are you two here? Not that I’m complaining,” Bobby chuckled slightly. 

“It’s a long and horrible story. The short end of it is, can we stay with you for a couple of months?” Sam asked in a single breath. 

“Sure! You are always welcome, come in, I can make a frozen pizza?”  Bobby offered, rubbing his eyes a little.  

“That’d be amazing, Bobby,” Sam said relieved.  Dean silent behind him.  His ass still sore and his pride non-existent.  

Sam and Dean relayed the long and twisted story of the bureau and the slave shop.

“That is crazy! So they are just hell-bent on making you beat Dean?” Bobby asked surprised.

“Apparently, he is dangerous and antisocial. They say he needs to be contained and disciplined before he can go out by himself. It’s a load of awful, Bobby. And some handler is going to come to teach me how to do it. You want to see what we had to buy?”

Dean twisted his face, “No! No, no he does not want to see it. That is personal. And we are not testing it out!”

“Okay, okay. Bobby, is there enough work for me and Dean to have a job?”

“I don’t see why not. I have about 15 cars that Dean and I can restore, you can inventory and do research, answer phones?”

“Anything would be great Bobby. We have to show that we are contributing members of society. I have so much paperwork, Dean needs goals each morning and proof he is accomplishing them.”

“We can get to all that later, I am just happy they let you walk out with him. I am going to put the pizza in and pop us some corn and we’ll watch Die Hard or something.”

“That sound’s great, Bobby.”

“Beer? Whiskey?”

“You, bet!” Dean said quickly, perking up.

“Just don’t get into trouble. That damn program will probably require me to beat you to level 5. And I do not own a pink fucking light bulb,” Sam said rolling his eyes.

“It sounds like you are doing an S&M version of I dream of Jeanie, but what the fuck do I know,” Bobby said rubbing his forehead.  "Beer, Sam?"

“No, I am doing fine.” Sam pulled out his phone to check messages. “Oh, okay, the handler is coming in two days. She has your address and actually lives a few towns over. Huh, that was fast.”

“She huh? No problem!” Dean said putting his hands behind his head relaxing into the couch.  


The men watched action movies, drank too much, ate too much and enjoyed each other. Sam feeling the weight and responsibility of his brother, kept sober and alert. Sam helped Bobby to bed and then tossed Dean in Dean's old room.

Sam woke up early and started breakfast. Vegetable egg omelet and wheat toast with coffee. Dean ate the breakfast quietly, not complaining or making fun of Sam’s health food.

“You okay, Dean?”

“Yeah, stop asking me that,” Dean put the food into his mouth with a wince.

“Okay,” Sam replied with a sigh, knowing that even as his master, there was no way to force his brother to express his feelings. Fucker.

Bobby ate the breakfast gratefully, pleased also with Sam for cleaning up the detritus from the previous night. Sam answered the hunter phones and tried to make a list of goals for Dean. Technically, they did not have to start until the handler got there to explain the process. Sam’s just always been an overachiever.

~*~*~*~*~*~.

After breakfast, Dean took a long shower even though he knew he would be dirtier by noon than he was now. He could still feel the stench of the Federal Slave office. Every time he came back from there it took days, no weeks to feel normal again. It was always a painful reminder of the truth of who he was. He did not like to think about it. Some days he would watch a slave and master and wonder why his father did not treat him like that. Why they kept up the lie.

Castiel had built a block in his mind of his time in hell. For that he was more than grateful. He remembered how insane and menacing Castiel had been to them. “I am Castiel, I griped you tight and raised you from perdition.” Bitch-ass angel of the Lord. Right. He had no idea what was going on.

It seemed the moment Sam plunged a knife into Ruby’s heart, Castiel had lost all purpose. He would babble about growing unrest in Heaven. The archangels had been expecting something big that failed to come to pass. Really he seemed confused and lost most of the time.

Whatever. The problems Dean faced were here down on Earth, ready to take a form of evil Dean hadn’t seen since his father walked the Earth. The hunter stared long and hard at his reflection. Tracing tiny lines that had begun to gather around his eyes. Looking hard to see if there were any answers there. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror draped in a towel, Dean was not looking to entertain company.

Not expecting company, but company came without an invitation. The mirror now reflected the angel.

 

“Holy shit, Cass!” Dean said looking behind him. Catching his breath, he said, “Damn! Call first! You have my number.”

The angel stared at him blankly. “You were not expecting me.”

“No Cass, it’s not a good time,” Dean smiled looking down at his towel

Castiel looked intently at the mortal. “Dean, how did you get injured?”

“I was a bad boy, Cass. Can you get the fuck out of my bathroom?” Dean asked in growing irritation.

“Would you like me to heal you?” Castiel asked directly.

Dean inhaled. He did not expect that. “Okay. Actually, that’d be great.”

Castiel put a firm hand on the towel. Light issued forth.

“Thanks man, that has not been comfortable. Why the hell are you here?” Dean said shifting his weight to the sink with one arm

“Lilith has been assassinated. There has been talk amongst the Demons that she could no longer bring about the apocalypse so I suppose her usefulness wore out. Her right hand man took her down. I think you have met him. Crowley?”

“Wasn’t he that punk-ass crossroads demon? How the hell did he get the balls to pull off something like that?”

“It was him and another Demon named Blackmore. I do not have much information on him. I know he was a gangster before he became a demon. Both of them are fighting it out for the position of ‘King of Hell.’”

“Why the fuck do you guys care? I mean different area code and no apocalypse that’s gotta be cause for a party.”

“It is not that simple, Dean. There is an order of things. Without Lilith, no one is sure how the end will come down. It is one of the things that gives Angels comfort. That there will be an end. That eventually the four horsemen will come and there will be an end. Everyone in Heaven is very concerned with the outcome of this fight.”

“Cass, why the fuck are you still in my bathroom?” Dean had already lost interest. Fucking angels.

“You have not moved, since I stopped in,” Castiel said with a glare.

“Yes, Cass, why the fuck did you stop in?”

“I need you to look into some murders in Illinois.”

“No can do. I am on Slave duty for the next 10 weeks.”

“Did Sam sell you?”

“No, Cass, I am in trouble, okay? I have to pay the piper for my sins.”

“I do not understand.”

“Sam and I got in trouble with the Federal Bureau of Slavery. Sam has to take classes on how to keep me in line. I have to stay in the state. I can’t risk it, Cass. You cannot even imagine the mountain of shit I would be in if I got taken from Sam.”

“It would mean you would serve a new master. How is it different than now?”

“God Cass, do I really have to explain?”

“I did just ask you to explain.”

“Slaves are not treated very well Castiel, I do not want to get sold to someone who just wants an ass buddy, he can loan out to his friends.”

“You are afraid you will be used sexually by another master.”

“Yes, Cass, I am very afraid of that.”

“I understand your concern. I will try to find an alternate solution.”

“Perfect. Now unless you want to become ass buddies I need to get dressed.”

“Okay, Dean. See you at another time.”

“Yeah, bye Cass.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope I don't have to say this. Slavery in our country was the worst, diabolically evil dark mark on American history possible. Seriously. Worse than Imperialism, worse than the Chinese blocking internet site, not worse than the Nazis but yes evil. Categorically evil. 
> 
> As is child abuse. Both are explored in this fiction. But fiction is awesome because shit that would never happen in real life can happen here. 
> 
> End rant.


	6. Meet Kate

9 AM Sioux Falls, ND

An old 67 Chevy pickup pulled into the scrap yard, owned and operated by Bobby Singer. Kate had her long fingers wrapped tight around the ancient steering wheel. Taking a short look at herself in the rearview mirror, she pressed a smile.

Kate Jenkins always wore light make up on a creamy complexion, clear mascara, and pale dusty pink lip-gloss. Sensible. A thin red choker wrapped several times around her long neck. Red was Kate’s favorite color. She wore only one color of nail polish. She could not remember the actual name of it but playfully called Ruby Slippers Red. Her short nails felt fancy and lady-like. Kate had seen very few movies. But she loved the Wizard of Oz. She often wished a tornado would come and whirl her off to a distant land, with less cruelty than the one she lived in.

She sighed with relief. Nothing out of place. Meeting a new client was always stressful. Her baby blue shirt hugged her willowy form around what she would describe as her reasonable breasts. They were not too big and generally on the small side, but healthy and pert. Reasonable. Her mane of wavy brown hair was what she would call unreasonable. It was heavy and thick. Her tresses were held up by two barrettes up high on the sides of her head. her mother had taught her to wear it that way years ago. It gave her the appearance of being younger than she was, but not any younger than she felt. A deceptive look that fooled most of her charges, before they learnt she meant business and held her job for reason.

She opened the tailgate and drug out a large black duffle bag. She heaved the thing on to her shoulders. She had made complaints that the thing probably weighed as much as she did. The office manager gave her a sigh and said that she did not have to do the job if she was not capable.

Assholes, she thought to herself as she lumbered toward the aging Victorian house.  
  
Katherine Jenkins paused to look around at the ramshackle scrap yard. The smell of rust and old motor oil filled her nose as she gave the house a smile. This place did not resemble anywhere she ever worked. Most of her clients lived in giant beautiful houses, with stables, groundskeepers, and butlers. The more eccentric clients went to other councilors. Kate’s boss tried to keep her from the dark underbelly of the slave trade. Her supervisor had chuckled when he handed Kate this assignment.

“Katy, you want soft? This one can’t lift a finger to the boy…” he said as he handed her the paperwork.

Kate breathed a sigh of relief. She took on a few difficult cases recently. The torture, abuse, and neglect wore the thin woman thinner. One of her last cases, she had to pull herself off of. It reminded her too much of home.

Kate had grown up in one of the surrounding towns. Her father was a car dealer and her mother had quit her job as a nurse to be a mother. She was an only child to people who had forgotten what childhood actually was. She remembered old photographs of herself, filled with pages and pages of petticoats and ribbons since the day she came home from the hospital. Her mother held a firm belief that children should be obedient, quiet, well behaved and well dressed.

Her parents probably should not ever have considered raising children, being a child was difficult in her house. Growing up, her mother gave her specific instructions for everything. She should not make a mess, get dirty or run too fast. Every doll had a place. Every stuffed animal had a shelf. Her life revolved around trying to keep everything in order and pleasing her watchful parents. Propped up in pretty dresses, holding flowers, white rabbits, and smiling with rows of white teeth she appeared to be a happy little girl. Her mother assigned so many lessons. Lessons for ballet, flute, and singing, ensuring she could play, dance and sing on command. She felt like a poodle dressed up for the company of her parents and their friends.

Things changed for Kate and her parents when she turned thirteen. The perfect daughter rebelled. She shaved her head, dyed her clothes black and wore too much eye makeup. Her parents were beside themselves. An embarrassment in the making, they threatened to sell her off. She told them she would rather be a slave than be their puppet.

Her mother started to have panic attacks and was forever worrying about her nerves. They both decided that they could not keep such a rabid girl in their house. She needed training and discipline. With a good master, they knew she’d be fed and taken care of. They found an auction house that sold girls and as house slaves to female buyers. Widowers, spinsters, high powered single mothers made up their typical clientele. A serious woman made the highest bid. The older woman had just lost her only daughter.

Kate now stared at the man who appeared behind a hood of an old Cadillac. His massive arms pushed up against his hips. The sun coming up behind him gave him a slight halo. His deceptively red beard illuminated by the sunlight. Kate looked at the giant man and guessed this must be the owner. The owner she had been carefully avoiding when fixing up the old Chevy. She had heard he was mean, hated anyone and everyone with a pulse. Her church friends would go over to his yard if she needed anything. Looking at him now, he did not seem so bad. He looked…intriguing. There was a deep mystery and a familiar pain behind those blue-green eyes.

Kate stared at him for a bit too long. Bobby broke their silent interaction with a scowl. “You okay, girl? Who are you?”

She opened her eyes wide. “I am Kate Jenkins and you, sir, are the notorious Bobby Singer! I have been meaning to stop by!” Kate set down her large bag, walked toward him and tried to extend her hand, giving him a warm smile.

“Huh… You got someone else you want to beat before Dean?” the man quipped back, already annoyed.

Kate flashed a look of injury, then quickly recovered, looking him dead in the eye.

“Oh, no… No, I have heard about the lot. Mr. Singer, I am here to help Dean. Not to beat him. None of us want that boy on the block. I am just here to do my job. Are Sam and Dean around?” she said more formally.

“Yeah, go on in. I am not going to lie, I think this is a bad idea. But you are all we got, so be it,” Bobby huffed in resignation. Bobby watched the small lady maneuver the very large bag and smiled as he did not bother to help. He dropped his tools and out-paced her easily, getting to the door before her.

  
Swinging the door open Bobby bellowed, “Sam! Dean! She’s here.” The mechanic mimicked the “They’re here!” from Poltergeist.

The movie reference was lost on Kate. He gave the door a slight kick but did not hold it for her. The door caught her bag as she maneuvered into the house, jolting her with the recoil.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
  
Kate bumped into the old house. The house smelled of dust and old paper. Looking around it was easy to see why. She entered the dated sitting room and saw books piled high at every corner and dust about an inch deep. Bobby disappeared into what Kate guessed was a kitchen because it smelled like coffee. Two young men sat next to each other on a green-grey couch.

The oldest was a thirty-something stocky blond, who looked like he should be on the cover of the magazines in the grocery store. The stout man sat with his elbows on his knees and fingers laced. The position of power, Kate thought to herself as she twisted her mouth.

The youngest was gigantic. He was tall and slim and had the grace of someone used to keeping his limbs breaking or knocking into objects or people. His fine brown hair recently tucked behind his ears, he pushed his long legs out and huddled back into the orange and green knitted blanket draped on the avocado green couch.

Kate said, “Good Morning,” and leaned over to shake both their hands. The blonde’s handshake was firm and he looked her in the eyes. The younger man’s was warm but he recoiled slightly at her touch.

“I am Kate Jenkins. I think we spoke on the phone. Which one of you is Sam?” she said smiling. The giant raised his hand slightly and gave a partial wave. Kate gave him a nod and then looked to the model. “You must be Dean.”

Dean pressed his full lips and forced a smile. Dean looked her up and down. He flashed his most charming smile and said, “Aren’t you a little too cute to be teaching discipline? What if I start to enjoy it?”

Kate let out a laugh. “You’re a little full of yourself, aren’t you?”  
  
Kate paused. “I have never really been asked that question. I can ask the office for someone else, but I will not be doing the work. I am not the master here. That one is. If you enjoy it from him, I guess they have counselors for that. I do suggest that you both follow my instruction exactly. I do not like to repeat myself and I do not like to wait. I am from around these parts. I was born and raised here. I read in the report you two are brothers? That is highly unusual for your situation.”

Dean answered casually, “Yeah, I was bought, this one was born next.” Kate guessed Dean took the lead in most situations.

“Where did you two grow up?”

“Lawrence, Kansas. Then everywhere,” Dean smiled.

“From what I read, Sam, you have a Pre-law degree from Stanford? That is very impressive. Why did you not continue?” she asked coolly.

Sam bit his cheek, “My father disappeared. I left school to help Dean find him. A year later, he got into some trouble he couldn’t get out of. When he died, I inherited Dean.” His voice was soft and confident but reserved.

“I am sorry to hear that. Dean, I hear you are a mechanic? We have something in common. I restored that Chevy pickup. It is hard work but I love it. Something about giving that beaten-up thing new life... Nothing like it.”

Dean nodded with a smile. “Yeah, I keep that old black Chevy out front purring. I inherited her from my father. He gave her to me years ago. Only before I knew every part inside and out.”

“I live about fifteen miles away. I cannot believe I did not come by when I was restoring that pickup. I had a few friends warn me about Bobby. Just church gossip, I’m sure.”

“Bobby’s not so bad. He’s got a bite but he’s about the closest thing we ever had to uncle and was probably more of a father than our own dad.” Dean said looking around the room. His face tensed in thought. He wondered why he was being so honest.

“Well, he looks very nice. I know you do not want me here, but why do you think the state sent me?” Kate said evenly.

Dean started to tense. Sam looked around the room, hoping someone else would answer. Kate waited.

“Sam?” Kate asked pointedly.

“I don’t really see a point to this. Dean is a grown man, and it should not be anyone’s ‘job’ to keep him in line,” Sam said slightly irritated.

“I agree with you. But legally, anything he does is on you. You understand that it is not that you don’t strike Dean. I am here because does not obey the laws. He is not beholden to anyone. His police record is a mile long. It is my job to see that he starts to obey you and then hopefully, the law.”

“Yeah, but there were lots of reason behind all of that.” Sam started to raise his voice. Dean covertly placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder.

Kate shook her head, pressing her lips. Stopping all conversation. “Dean, you cannot do that anyone,” she said slowly. “Your brother touches you in public, not the other way round. These are habits you need to be aware of,” she said gently. “There are real consequences for failing inspection again.”

“What do we have to do to get this over with?” Sam asked pulling up in his seat, tapping his foot absently.

“Well, how did your father keep your brother in line? The trouble with the police starts with you, Sam,” she asked directly.

Sam started biting his fingernail unconsciously. Dean balled his fists.

“Hey, none of this is Sammy’s fault,” Dean said defensively.

“I know Dean,” she said lowering her voice, “We just need somewhere to start. Sam, can you talk about your dad for a minute?”

“Look, he scared the crap out of both of us and ran our house and our lives like you the Marines. None of that is feasible, so let’s move on,” Sam said angrily.

Kate looked into her papers. “Okay, okay, I do have a few responses from John in previous inspections. Maybe that would help? John says here that he used corporal punishment for drinking, cursing, sneaking out, drugs, and the list is long. This was back when Dean was… twenty-five,” Kate began to rub her head. “Are these still problems?” She looked at them for answers. She closed her eyes, of course, they were.

“It looks like you are having the same issues, but now the police are involved. I am going to recommend that you hold Dean to the same or a similar standard your father had. If Dean cannot obey the law, the State is not going to allow you to keep him, Sam. And Dean? You do not want to go to auction.”

Dean looked deeply into an orange lamp, trying to reconcile what she was saying. Sam rubbed his forehead and pulled gently on his hair. Dean had told him so many times that was his tell. He had gotten better at it but it was hard to break.

“I know, I know. Just tell us what to do…” Sam’s anger broke. She needed to diffuse this situation. Fast.

“We are going to start very slow. Don’t worry. I will get you through this.” Kate paused. “Just take a deep breath and then we will begin.”

Kate smiled and took some exaggerated deep breaths. “Okay, now you try,” she said sweetly. She took a few more deep breaths.

She noticed their reluctance and narrowed her eyes and firmly said, “Now. Do it now.”

Sam and Dean, startled by her abruptness, were both deep breathing. Her calm returned and she unhitched her bottle of water from her jeans and took a few swallows.

“So, now we know some of the expectations. Obey the law, do not cause trouble and maintain civility in public. That means no drunkenness, cursing, swearing, and being respectful of those around you. You also are going to follow commands and a schedule as prescribed by Sam. Dean? We are clear?”

Dean gave her a sly half smile and partial nod. This is not going to be easy, Kate thought to herself.

“Now we know what Dean should be disciplined for, we should go over some common techniques. So, Sam, have you decided where you are going to discipline Dean?”

Sam looked like her master’s teacup poodle after she found it crapping in the living room. Perfect. She was going to need to give this kid a spine. “Umm… I couldn’t decide.”

“Just give me a tour and we can examine our options,” she said gently.

The bottom floor of Bobby’s house had a study, a living room, a half bath, a kitchen and door to the basement. Sam assured her would not be suitable. The tour upstairs revealed four bedroom and two full baths. Three of the rooms were taken: Bobby’s room, which was locked, Dean’s room, Sam’s room, and a little backroom that housed an unusual number of books. Dean’s room, for her purposes, would not work. Sam’s room was very tidy, but the backroom would be easier as it would not have to be broken down.


	7. Now We Begin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Discipline. You know the drill. Summary at the bottom.

Kate walked in and surveyed the small room, she tried not to choke too loudly on the dust. Cleaning it would be the first project for her new client, who now seemed very concerned with the state of his fingernails in the hallway. Cleaning the punishment area was always a sobering experience. She watched Sam, the master, shift back and forth, nervously, on his long legs in the doorway.

Her noise tickled. She felt like she was back in the county records room. The room smelled of old forgotten paper and ancient periodicals. The air grew stale around ancient texts that seemed to wait patiently for oblivion.

 

Sam thought of the stories his dad had told him about the room. The boys shared the room that was currently Sam’s when they were growing up. John had taken the room Dean was in. That room was larger and on the eastern side of the house, so the room did not get the harsh morning sun. Sam never had his own room and asked him why he could not take the small bedroom. John told him that Bobby’s wife Karen had intended it to be a nursery. Bobby did not like to use it.

Before the smell and the volumes of ancient evils had moved in. It started out cozy and yellow. The color reminded Karen of fields of wheat on a summer day. She loved that hazy yellow. She said it looked the real color of a baby chick. Over the years, the hazy wall paper had turned an off shade of brownish yellow. The wall paper, probably embarrassed of itself, had started to come up all over the room. Bobby hated it. He shoved the texts he considered the most boring and tedious in this room. The guest bed only had visitors when all the other rooms were filled. Sam and Dean use to play with their cars in that room. Uncle Bobby did not care for the volumes of texts that occupied that room so they could make ramps and forts until the dust overcame them and the outdoors called to them.

 

“Since this room is… not in use right now, let’s use it for instruction. Sam, this room should have one purpose for Dean. You should never use his bedroom. The point is to make the experience unique and to not confuse him on a base level. We all need some places to feel safe. This should be one Dean wants to avoid. We will move a mirror into this room.

“Dean, dear, I am going to need you to take off your clothes and come back wearing this.” She handed him a similar contraption to the one given to him in the in the spank store.

“Great another banana hammock,” he thought to himself.

After Dean left, Kate set up a table like the one in the shop. “We are going to go over some basics. I know you probably know most of this, being Stanford prelaw but it never hurts to review.” Kate took off her coat. Her clothing was not as constricting as it looked, it was light and flexible. She pulled out a riding crop.

Sam’s big green eyes got bigger. “What are you going to do with that?”

“Really, it looks more dangerous than it is. I am going to use this to establish some authority and for instructional purposes. I really am not a dominatrix. I am here to make sure you keep yourself, the public and Dean, safe.

“I am really surprised you all are so averse to me being here. Your father pioneered the legislature for the Slave Health and Safety Act. I guess that is not public knowledge. I studied your father and his case. Your father felt the Federal Slave Bureau tricked him into molesting a boy in order to keep him from being taken. Everything about the case was done in secret. He did not want the boy to become front-page news. I can only assume he was talking about Dean. John’s story is very touching, you should read it sometime.”

_Sam’s eyes narrowed. What Jacob said back at the shop… sexual training. That fucking bastard. Sam growled. Nothing could redeem his father. This girl was crazy to think John Winchester cared about anything or anyone but revenge. Went to Hell for Dean. Damn right. It was the very least he could have done to undue everything he took from his brother._

“When the fuck did that happen? All I remember is how he beat Dean and I until I went to Stanford. And apparently after that!”

“The Act is recent but it was a huge stride in ensuring the humane treatment of slaves. The safety checks were his idea. They use to just be about abuse, neglect, but John made sure they focused and overall health and education.”

“Huh…” Sam responded distantly.

Dean walked in, clad in nothing but a banana hammock.  
“Great, let’s get started. Dean, you are familiar with the table?” Dean hesitated then nodded.

Kate positioned him as she spoke to Sam. “I would consider buying one of these. It is nice not to worry about breaking position and the like. Here we go. Just lay down here and we’ll adjust the height and there.” Again Dean trussed up, hips pointing high.

 

_This position reminded him of the last time his father had punished him. It felt like so long ago. The memory of that punishment had kept him straight for years after. Being naked and stripped down, and what felt like being filleted with his own belt, gasping for breath, through cries of pain and humiliation. By the end, both men were sweaty and panting when his father finally finished with him. Dean collapsed on the dirty floor of the motel room. John stood in the doorway with fire in his eyes. The old man hurled Dean’s belt back at him. The bunched worn strap of leather hit his shoulder, narrowly missing his face._

_“This is the last time I am doing this shit, Dean. Next time, I just put you on the block.” Before John closed the door, the last words he heard were “worthless slave trash.” The word cut deeper than wounds. It was hours before he pulled himself up. Surely if Dean ever got his memories of Hell back? They’d be similar to that night._

_Dean hated feeling like a slave. He hated that there was no way to avoid it. Now, instead of it being a secret he and his father shared, he was bound and humiliated in front of a stranger and his own brother. Dean swallowed hard trying his very best not to cry. For Christ’s sake, she was a little girl and she had not even hit him yet. Goddamn it._

Kate kept her focus on Sam. “I assume you have bought yourself a tool to use? Can you bring it out?”

“Sssure, let me go get it.” Sam stuttered, ducking out of the room noticeably fast.

Kate placed a warm hand on Dean’s bare back. He wanted to cringe and shake her off. But he couldn’t. He felt his body try to push into her hand. It was more direct human kindness than he had in a long time. He wanted to hate her like he hated John. He did not want to feel better with Kate, but he did. She was reassuring and kind. “Don’t worry, it is going to be okay, we are going to get through this.” She said these things softly. She poured a dab of oil into her hands, rubbing them together to warm it up, then she rubbed circles into his back. “You are not in trouble. It’s okay.” She finished saying in a whisper as Sam walked into the small room.

In Sam’s hands, the black case. He opened it nervously. Kate smiled as she picked up the thick leather, feeling its heft. She pulled the leather back and forth. “Oh, this is a good choice, but you travel a lot, correct? This is going to be really loud... so on the road?”

Sam blushed and nodded. “Jacob, the guy at the shop, told me to just bring it and use a belt?”

“Not bad, not bad. Well, let’s go over some basics. Dean is your slave and you should be able to touch him anywhere. They are going to expect this from you. You are going to have to do this with confidence and without forethought. If Dean were to lay a hand on you, you would have to take ten more weeks of classes. You are going to have to switch roles for a while. It is going to be hard to get used to but… in time, it will feel more natural.”

Sam’s lip twitched.

 

“Let’s talk about punishment because that is what you seem to have the biggest problem with.” Kate pulled out her crop and brushed it on Dean’s upper back. Dean’s back shivered and reacting with goosebumps all over his body. Something akin to fear, excitement, and shame shot through his body to the pit of his stomach. Then feelings of loss of control and humiliation took over.

“You may use a whip on the upper back and upper chest. As we work our way down, we need to avoid the kidneys and stomach. The area most commonly used for punishment is buttocks.”

Kate traced areas with her crop as she spoke. Hot tears fell to the ground and Dean sniffled. Kate’s eyes widened. “Oh… okay, Sam can you give us a moment?” she said quickly.

“Sure.” Sam tripped over his feet trying to get out of the small room.

Sam’s feet fell hard on the steps as he leaped down the familiar stairs like a gazelle. Bobby poured a cup of coffee for them both. Sam’s hands wrapped around his favorite maroon cup, letting the warmth and the smell calm him. After a long sip, he shook his hair so it fell in his face.

“Bobby, this is so weird and so awful and so weird. There is some goddamn table upstairs… Did you know Dad had a hand in the slave legislature? The new Slave act was brought on by his testimony Bobby.”  
  
Bobby closed his eyes, thinking back on the man who had laid in so much hurt into those boy’s lives. “I wish I could say I was surprised. John Winchester did a lot of amazing things. You’re Daddy wasn’t all bad. Life handed that man a lot of hell and did the best he could with it. He was still a freaking asshole.”

 

Kate and Dean came down the stairs. Dean was fully dressed. “We have decided to work on some goals and explain the process before we get any further.”

“That sounds better to me,” Bobby said not looking at her.

“Mr. Singer? You are the next in line for ownership, correct?” Kate said looking at the man intently.

“Yah, we drew up the paperwork,” Bobby replied with a nod to the cabinets.

“Great, this conversation is for you too. We are going to establish a set of rules for Dean to follow with you and Sam, then the more common ones he needs to follow in public.” Kate looked through some papers as she spoke.

“Why don’t you tell us what in hell he should do in public first? Just so there is not any overlap.” Bobby pulled up one side of his mouth in a sneer, this time meeting her eyes. Jez, he as angry. Plan B.  
Kate drank a big swallow from her water bottle and then took a deep breathe. “I normally like to do this at the end of a session, to assure my safety, but it is obvious we need to do this now.”

Kate pulled her pale blue shirt slowly over her head. She slowly revealed the flat of her stomach. Then pulling the cloth higher, then her pale pink bra that held her respectable breasts. Her breasts hung high and round on her chest. Her milk white skin shivered slightly with the morning air. Standing in front of them she did not feel exposed. She pressed her lips in amusement at their look of silent shock. Dean combated a giggle, putting a knuckle to his lips.

“Boys…,” she thought as she pulled her mass of long brown hair over her shoulder and turned around on her heals. On her back, starting from the base of her neck to the middle of her back were a series of small tattoos.

Dean was shocked at how many she had. The typical slave had one or two, she appeared to have twelve or more. What the hell kinds of trade can you teach such a small girl?

“The letters indicate the training I have had.” She turned back around, “You see, I follow all these rules, too. So does my master. She has been kind and allowed me to find work part-time. She raised me from the time I was 13. My parents could not keep me in line. They had threatened many times, I just didn’t believe them. I get a few cards now and then, sometimes at Christmas, but I do not hear very much from them. I understand this is not an easy life. I just take my lot one day at a time. I write letters to congress, the press, churches really anybody of authority about what I have seen. I have written anonymous books. I try to make sure everyone has the best possible situation. Mostly I work with abusive masters and slaves. I try to re-humanize them to their masters. I teach logical consequences. Maintaining expectations. Working together.

“Dean, with your arrest record, your escaping arrest, multiple aliases, fights, they decided Sam needs to take control or you need to be in a more controlled environment. Your Dad showed that he had a handle on you. Sam needs to show that too. I wish you could just act the part but you need to change.” Kate was sincere in her plea.

Bobby put his head in his hands and rubbed his brow, trying not to look directly at her.

“Anyway, you could put your shirt back on? These two might be able to listen to you better.”

Kate smiled and blushed slightly, pulling her t-shirt back over her head, straightening it.

“Bobby! Man!” Dean said disappointed, looking dreamily with his head resting on his hand.

“Hey man, shut up!” Sam pushed Dean’s arm out from under his head.

Dean shook his head and armed his fist in a punch. Then looked at Kate who stared with jaw clinched. He put his fist down and looked at the floor. “Good boy.” She said with a warning.

“Now, if you are all done being angry and can accept my help, we can move on to how Dean should behave in public. Being in public around Sam is going to be vastly different than being with Bobby. With Sam, you need to walk behind him,” Kate pulled out a list, “only speak when you are directed to speak, use proper language, and try not to stare at anyone. You need to be on your best behavior. With Bobby, you just need to not call any attention to yourself. That means no cursing, spitting, cat calls, or starting fights. Try to let Bobby speak for you first. Always let Sam speak for you. Questions asked you should be answered by Sam. Sam will also order your food, so tell him ahead of time, he will pay for everything unless he directs you. If he gets something wrong, just accept what you are given. This can be dangerous as many people are opposed to slavery. So try to make it seem natural. Do not talk down to Dean, but do not let him boss you, insult you, touch you or correct you. All of those behaviors need physical consequences.”

“Here is the pay scale for slaves, after 54 hours of work a week. That includes chores and discipline. You cannot make him stand in the corner and not count that as time served. After that, your rate is $5/hr for overtime. If disputes occur, someone like me will intervene. If you have a day job, you are paid 20% of your total gross pay. Sam must provide adequate food, housing, clothing, and protection. You can pay for transportation, going out, movies, whatever Sam allows.”

“So I am a pimp?” Sam asked suspiciously.

“In a way, but you are no longer aloud to offer Dean’s sexual services as payment.”

“So, what are your house rules? Who does chores? Do you split them?” She looked around the room noticing the dirty dishes, crusty stove and dirt laced floor.

“I typically pick up after these sorry idjits.”

“That must stop. Dean needs to do all the house work or his fair share.”

Bobby pressed his lips, “We can split it up even.”

“Dean may do Sam’s work, but Sam may not do Dean’s.”

They came up with some simple chores to split. Kate prattled off a list including dishes, laundry, vacuuming, cleaning bathrooms and preparing meals. Dean rolled his eyes, and under his breath, he said to Sam, “This is bullshit…” as he pretended to stretch and yawn.

“I heard that, Dean! Sam, you are going to have to start carrying around a strap, crop, or wooden spoon. He really has absolutely no control over himself.”

Dean looked around, angry and confused. Sam scowled but he was just as afraid of her as Dean. Kate closed her eyes and shook her head. She stood and grabbed one of Bobby’s spoons from his old coffee can.

“Stand up, Dean.” Dean glared at her.

“Stand up, Dean,” she said slower with more diction. He did as he was told rolling his eyes. She walked up next to him grabbing his arm. He gave her his best get-the-fuck-off face, but before he had time to speak, he heard eight loud whacks and Kate dropping the spoon loudly on the kitchen table.

“Owe! Damnit, sonofabitch! Seriously, what the fuck?” Dean grabbed his ass and then catching a glimpse of her, he bit his lip and turned red as he saw Kate’s eyes narrow.

“Dean you will need to go to the other room and wait for Sam and me.”

Dean gave her an incredulous look. “Now, why the fuck would I do that?” he said just as firmly as she had.

Kate took one of her exaggerated deep breaths. She tilted her head slightly. Then looked at him calmly, “Dean, I am sorry I did not explain the consequences. If you refuse me, I have to call my office. Once that happens, some very large men will come to your house and take you to what has been affectionately called obedience school, more officially Reform School. Once there, if you have any sense of self-preservation, you will learn to submit. Then I will come back and we will try again. But this time, Sam will have a very large bill and you will be what they call ‘broken in.’ Now, would you like me to call the office or would you like to go upstairs, Dean?” There was no taunt in her voice. Her words were scary enough.

Dean glared at her and walked up the stairs shaking his head.

Sam looked like he was in a state of shock. Bobby clenched his fists and stared at the small woman. She glared back at both of them fiercely.

“Before both of you bury me in the backyard, take a minute to remember why I am here… They are going to take him away if he acts like that. Do you have the 300 grand? The half million? He would probably go for?”

Bobby sighed and shook his head. Sam started biting his nails. “Both of you grow up! This is happening whether you want it to or not. I will get Dean ready, Sam, you will come up when we are ready for you. Then you will watch me administer a punishment for cursing and defiance. Bobby, you probably want to sit this one out.”

“That is fine with me. I got work to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kate introduces Dean to the punishment room.  
> It's too much for him. They go down stairs.  
> Kate reveals that she is also a slave.  
> Dean bucks at doing choirs and obeying Sam. Dean curses and gets a punishment, curses again and refuses to obey  
> Kate threatens to send him to Reform School.  
> Dean obeys this time, goes back up stairs, reluctantly.


	8. Of Boys and Men

_Kate felt the wood creak as she made her way up the stairs.  She felt a sigh come out of her mouth. Her job had been always difficult.  Convincing masters that their slaves were worthy of decent treatment.  Teaching masters harsh beatings did little more than cause anxiety or more aggression.  Exhausting.  The ones that had been slaves since childhood always pulled at her heart.  Innocence lost.  Kate wanted nothing more for the abolition of slavery.  She thought of Dean, that man who still acted like an obnoxious child.  He'd be eaten alive.  If that man went on the block?  In a few years, she'd be called out correct the opposite problem.  She strengthened her resolve as she climbed the stairs, feeling a weight that felt as heavy as her giant duffle.  She count absently.  10... 9... 8.. 7... 6... 5... 4... 3... 2... Open the door, Kate._  
  
Awe, there he was.  He sat on the olive green bedspread.  His shoulders slumped, staring at the dusty hardwood.   "I'm sorry," he offered.   
  
He looked sincere and remorseful.  Kate pulled a slight smile. Hope.  At least there was some fucking hope. 

“I know Dean, but that is not going to save you from your consequences. Now go. Come back ready,” she said her lips pressed and irritation clearly marked on her face. Dean slumped off of the bed and went to his room.

When Dean left the room, Kate tried to recall if she ever had had to discipline anyone on the first day. She was at a loss. These boys needed help. “Just do your job, Kate.” She told herself. She took out a notebook and wrote down the incident. She shook her head once more. This was going to have to count. She clicked her tongue as she put the book back.

 

Dean returned, head down and he silently moved over to the table.  Kate secured his wrists. Dean nervously scanned the room, but from his viewpoint he saw very little. All he saw was a bunch of dusty forgotten texts and shadows of Kate moving things around. Then a tall figure moved silently into the room. Sam.

“We are going to get back to our lesson.” Kate said as she swished the crop around in the air. “Okay, like I said, there are different tools for different areas. The safest is the bottom. For simple correction like, cursing, swearing, being late, you do not have enter in the app. If you do, it is going to assume it is a major offense and you will have to punish him to tears. Now we are going to try a variety of tools to get the feel for them.”

Dean heard the sounds of leather and wood being emptied out on the bed.

He heard the small woman speak again. Her voice firm, “This will be like getting swats in gym class. That is why I suggested you carry something with you. The public will expect you to take Dean somewhere private and correct his behavior, should this happen again. And I do not expect to happen again. Dean you are in complete control over how you act and respond. I expect polite, decent behavior. Is that clear?”

Dean's blond head nodded a yes.

“Sam, please select a tool for me to use,” she commanded.

Dean felt the long pause. Sammy couldn't do it. Classic. Dean cracked a covert smile.

“Now.” She demanded. “Perfect.... Dean. Why are you being punished?”

“Huh?” Dean asked startled, still thinking about what a pussy Sam was.

Dean felt the crack of leather slap the back of his thigh. It stung like hell as he pulled up a hip. Hell, that woke him up...

“Uhh! Cursing?” Dean guessed, hoping he was right, trying to see her face. 

“Yes, very good,” she said approvingly. Dean shivered slightly. What the fuck was next?

Then a volley of 10 hard and fast strikes hit the same place.

Dean pulled and moved, then jerked hard under the lashes.

“Ah!” Dean fought the table unconsciously.

“Calm down. It’s over now. Are you going to remember this lesson?” She said sternly.

“Definitely.” Dean exhaled shaking his head. Dean felt the swish of air as the strap bite another strike.

“Owe!” Dean choked a little.

“The correct response is ‘Yes, Ma’am,’” she corrected. Jeez, she was like Dad.

“Yes… Ma’am,” he said slowly and deliberately. Stupid getting spanked by a girl. This was so not sexy. He kicked his leg a little.

“Good Dean. I hope you learned from this.” Kate gave a slight whistle as she lay down the strap. “Okay, that is enough for today. I will see you two tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Sam's voice hitched, looking around the room.

“Yes, I will come for a few hours every day. We will work on submission and dominance, etiquette and forms, rules and consequences. I am leaving my equipment here. Sam, see that Dean dusts this room before I get back, and I do have white gloves, Dean.  See you tomorrow. Ciao.”

Kate left the room on that note. After she had left, Sam managed a wide-eyed, wave as he looked at his brother still attached to the bench.  


Kate was glad to be done. This had been a very emotional first meeting. Normally, she got to know her clients, discussed their history, assessed their needs, and devised a plan. These boys were children. They knew nothing and would have to be taught everything. Most likely through trial and error, considering how today went. She looked down at the scrawled number on the thin sheet of white paper torn from a manual in her bag. She bit her lip in a nervous smile. Kate told herself, you only live once, her heart racing.

Kate strolled over to Bobby, who was reading, nestled comfortably in a dark brown easy chair in the parlor. She handed him the slip of paper, her hands and painted nails trailing behind her. Ten digits written in an odd calligraphy.

“You want me to give this to Sam? Or Dean?” Bobby asked irritated, putting down his book on modern slavery.

“I don’t play well with boys, Mr. Singer.” She said coyly, then walked back, and edging very close to him, whispering in his ear, “I do play very well with men,” a hint of smile in her voice.

Kate turned her back and walked to the door, as she opened the heavy door, she called back,

“Call me, maybe we can get something to eat and then see where that takes us.” She smiled and closed the door.

 

In a few minutes, Sam and Dean pounded down the stairs. Dean let Sam come down first.

“What’s wrong, Bobby?” Sam asked. Bobby was still staring blankly at the slip of paper. Then he looked at the paper quizzically. “I think Kate asked me out.”

“NO WAY! The Kate that was just here?” Dean said in disbelief.

Bobby looked at him incredulously, with a nod and slight smile.

“Well what did she say?” asked Sam.

“Well, she handed me this, then I asked her if she wanted me to give this to either of you… She said she didn’t like boys, she liked men.” Bobby said pointedly. Searching the boys’ faces for answers. Should he even trust this girl?

“Oh!!! Burn!” Dean said laughing, “Okay that is awesome! I had plans for that, but wow. You go.”

“You dog!” Sam laughed.

“I’m okay with it. Cute, Bobby,” Dean smiled, “And she’s one of mine.” Dean said with some pride.

“I mean that is what I am worried about. Should I, could I really date her?”

“Come on, Bobby, you can’t not date her because she’s a slave, that’s racist.”

“Technically, slaves are not a race…” Sam said giddily.

“Okay, then slavist,” Dean retorted, bristling a little.

“Yeah, that is not a word. Probably classist.”

“Yeah, you’re a classist, Bobby! And she’s cute. I mean you saw that body? Right? Oh god, do not tell me you have gotten too old to notice that.”

“Will you shut the fuck up? And I am not a goddamn classist.” Bobby said with disgust.

“I have been reading a lot about slave law, legally, you can date her. Her owner does not have to know as long as she is out on her own time, and you don’t get her pregnant...,” Sam said hopefully,  
"AND, she did say that she restored that truck of hers, by herself.”

“Bobby! You should call her. She okay as long as she doesn’t have that crop in her hand. Or maybe you could get into it?” Dean teased.

“Boys, I’m too old for this shit. I haven’t been on a date in decades,” Bobby said thoughtfully. “She said she wanted to get some food with me and then see where that went. To be honest, I was about ready to call her a demon and get it over with before she asked me. I can’t stand the thought of her beating the crap out of you, Dean.”

Dean rolled his eyes with a smirk, “I can take it.”

“Just barely from what I saw,” Sam chuckled, turning to Bobby. “Go get dinner with her. You could have a good time.”

“I’d fuck her if she was beating Sam,” Dean said casually, leaning back with his hands behind his head.

“Thanks?”

“Sorry, bro. Rules of hot apply.”

“Touché” Sam and Dean bumped fists.

“Can we even do that anymore?” Dean asked.

“I think its fine? I don’t know… but really watch your mouth around that girl, Bobby!” Sam said straight-faced.

“Yep. She keeps bad boys in line for a living,” Dean warned with a smile.

“You boys are making this more appealing by the minute,” Bobby said looking up at the ceiling

“Well it’s eleven o’clock. We should get moving on those cars. Right Bobby?” Dean said as he tapped the table with his fingers.

“I’ll clean up and answer the phones,” Sam added.

“Thanks, Sam. I started on that old caddy this morning, we can work on that Dean. Unless you want to go to bed or something. You okay Dean?” Bobby asked concerned.

“Bobby? Yeah,” Dean said with a smirk and a scoff. “Let’s do it,” Dean said drumming his hands on the kitchen table.


	9. Wined and Dined with Burgers and Jack

  
  
  
  
_South Dakota was knee deep in Indian summer in the middle of September. Dust had settled everywhere. The land desperate for deep rain. Bobby cranked the swamp fan and he as Dean worked in the garage until 1:30. Sam cleaned and made lunch. Ham sandwiches and soup._

Bobby thought on it and decided to call Kate up. After a short conversation, she said she would pick him up at 7 PM. This was of course, upon her completion of chores and preparation of dinner for her master.

“That’d be fine.” Bobby had forgotten for a moment that she was a slave and did things a slave did.

The dusty, rusty, white and blue old Chevy pickup pulled into Bobby’s lot for the second time that day. Kate gripped the steering wheel with a smile. She was surprised she asked him out. Even more surprised when he accepted. Kate did not date. She did not like the idea of starting anything with anyone. Logically all it could end in one of three ways… a beating, a broken heart, or both. Something in his eyes that said he was worth it. There was the way time seemed to stand still when she looked at him. Something in his strong arms that made her want to tear off that shirt. She would gladly take a beating to see that. She skipped forward in secondhand fitted navy dress. Her hair pulled back into a bun, secured with a red chopstick.

She walked up to the run down grey and white Victorian house. She smiled at the paint as it tried to free itself from the shingles and siding. The house had more mystery and character now than it ever had new. Mrs. Carver’s house was free of character and definitely free of mystery. She had check every square inch. Mrs. Carver never bought anything without a reason. When she was through with the object? So was its time in her house. Closet after closet and cabinet after cabinet, contained empty space and everyday objects. Mementos, nick-knacks, and sentimental objects were things weak people owned. Mrs. Carver scarcely had any photos of late husband or her only daughter. The ones she did have hung on the wall. Kate was not on the wall and had really never been in photo since her sale. Well she was in few from church functions.

Kate knew from the start she was just another one of those objects. Kate understood her training and grooming were in preparation for a healthy sale. Thankful, the day had not come. Every year or so Mrs. Carver would announce that it was time for her get another training. A series of books would show up at the house, then after she was done with them, she would leave for three or four months of hell. Kate would come back to Far Point, complete with bruises and the all the knowledge of a chef, a prostitute, a maid, or overseer. She would return with all that and a new tattoo, bleeding and swollen.

Kate doubted that Bobby had objects who life was limited to their use. It looked as though when something went in, it found a home and never wanted to leave.

A sharp alarm sounded as Kate pressed the doorbell. The noise seemed to be more warning someone dared to come calling, rather than an announcement of company.

 

~*~

Bobby opened the door almost immediately. Kate happily looked him over and grabbed him by the hand and tugging him toward her truck.

“Mind if we take my mine?” She called back pulling him along behind her. He looked at her queerly. She was bouncing around like a child with a new playmate. She opened up his door with a smile. Bobby gave her a nod in appreciation. As he climbed into the cab, taken back at how fast it took her to be sitting next to him. She now let out excited giggles.

“Where do you want to go? I am ready for anything! It has been so long since I’ve been out! Eeee, I am sounding desperate aren’t I? Let’s go get a steak!” she said quickly looking at him wide-eyed waiting for a response.

“That would be fine,” he said evenly, wondering if this adventure was a mistake.

“Great! I know the best place!” Kate peeled out of the lot and headed down the road.

 

After some time had passed, Bobby tried breaking the silence and starting some conversation.  
  
“So, Sam tells me that you restored this Chevy?”

“Yeah, I got lucky. It was just rotting in Mrs. Carver’s back lot. I looked up how to do it on the internet and with books. Luckily, her late husband had some tools and I just bought parts when I could. We go to the library every Wednesday. You see, she pulled me out of school when I came to live with her. I managed to get a GED in my free time. I can’t complain much. I have seen much worse.” Kate looked over at Bobby who rubbed his head.

“Mrs. Carver? You live in Far Point?” he looked at her squinting his eyes in prepared disgust.

“Yeah?” Kate replied surprised.

“Your master is my mother-in-law! That bitch refused to sell this truck for decades! Oh, you poor girl. My Karen had a time with her,” Bobby said with a lot more spit than he intended.

Kate’s eye’s widened and she giggled with glee. “Oh, My GOD!” She looked at him with a noticeable disbelief. “You are that Bobby? Wow. Wow! I have heard some stories about you! I knew I liked you the minute I saw you!”

She paused in concern, then said slowly, “I am real sorry about Karen. I have heard lots about her too… Want to listen to some music?”

Bobby nodded, then cranked his neck, “Wait, what stories?” Kate smiled and slipped in a cassette of the Rolling Stones.  
  
  
  
Kate pulled into what Bobby could only describe as a Honky-Tonk. The joint was quiet but a large chalkboard sign held the promise of a live band at 9PM. Stuffed six point bucks, old license plates, pictures of country western stars from Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings to Dolly Parton, old guitars, real stuffed dogs in hats, odds and ends of every variety were nailed up, until there was not an inch of real estate left on the walls. The place was not crowded but judging from the state of the floor and the amount of scuffs marks, that would not be the case for long.

The great room itself split into a restaurant and dance hall. A few patrons were drinking at the bar. The blue plate special and happy hour customers were scattered about at tables around the restaurant.

“If you’re _that_ Bobby, I heard you could dance!” she said coyly.

“Oh, Kate, that was years ago. By the way, how old are you?” he asked directly.

“Thirty-two, so drinks and hamburgers or steak and wine?” Kate leaned into her hands on the table they were standing next to, awaiting his answer. The question stumped Bobby. He was unsure if it was a loaded or if he should care. He decided to go with his actual choice: hamburger and a jack and coke. The two put in their order, then Bobby handed the bartender a wad of bills. Kate waved him down. Earl, as his nametag stated, nodded knowingly with a smile, gave it back to Bobby, who now had a sour expression, unsure what was going on. He had been banded from several bars in the area but this one he was sure he’d remember.

“Your money’s no good here, Bobby Singer. But, don’t you think I am not expecting something at the end of the night for my tender,” Kate said smiling smugly.

“That is a really good line!” Bobby looked at her with a smile. He might like this odd ball after all.

“I know darling.” Kate smiled carrying his drink to a table.

Kate sat down and cradled her drink with both hands. She took a sip and said, “Thank you for coming out with me, I know you were not thrilled with me coming by in the first place.” She searched his face for answer.

“It’s a bad situation all round. I did not know the whole story. I do wish those boys had stayed out of so much trouble.” Bobby looked clearly uncomfortable with the topic. “You gotta tell me what the devil those letters mean.”

Kate smiled again, relaxing. “They are like classes I took? All very intense trainings. Typically it takes someone years to learn how a skill. But with a year of self-study and a few unpleasant months, I can get certified and tattooed. The trainers say I have very good retention. You sure you want to know all of them?”

Bobby bit his lip and nodded.

“Well, there’s house work two levels, etiquette, discipline, cooking, baking and cuisine. Then gymnastics, that one was fun. Health and four levels of intimate training. I really thought my master, I mean Mrs. Carver, was trying to level me up for a big sale.  But she hasn’t yet. She suggested my current job. As you can see it can be very dangerous. I really love what I do though. It’s gets really bad out there. I know the insurance policy on my head is really high. Maybe that’s the reason she allows it?”

Bobby pulled at his beard, it looked as if he thought she said slug swallowing. “Intimate training?”

Kat gave him an incredulous look. “Bobby Singer, I am a very good girl. I have read lots of books, taken tests, but I did not attend sex camp. These embalms represent knowledge, not experience. I have more of one and none of the other,” she giggled. “Probably too information… I guess I’m just not shy.”

Bobby lifted his head in a nod. He looked like he was trying to process what she was saying.

“For Christ Sake, I swear. Am I too prude now, Bobby?” She opened her lips and bit into her straw in a smirk.

“No. NO! It’s just that I never met anyone like you before,” he said defensively.

“Okay, Bobby, I am going to go refill our drinks, when I get back you are going to have to spill your story.” He nodded silently wide-eyed.

She got back with two jack and cokes.

“And where did you grow up, Bobby?” she said, her head cradled in her hands.

“Not really much to tell. I grew up here in Sioux Falls. Left as soon as I could, joined the Marines, got a degree in Philosophy and History. Then I met Karen through some friends in college. We got hitched. Turned my family home into a scrap and bought the surrounding lots. Karen got sick and I lost her. Now I just sell scrap and restore cars from time to time.”

“Interesting,” she said in thought. “What I do not understand is how you are in such good shape. No offense but you do not look like one who would spend time at a gym. But, you look like you could break me in two.” She looked into him with anticipation.

“I… It’s…” Bobby was unprepared for the compliment and the line of questioning.

“Don’t worry. Keep your secrets.” She took a sip of her drink.

He watched she take a slow sip of her drink. He suddenly doubted her intentions. He wondered why this waif of a girl was dating a full on middle-aged man. Goddamn it. He should have brought the holy water, the silver, and some iron.

“I have to ask, I don’t look like your daddy do I?” he asked suspiciously.

Kate almost spit out her drink in a laugh. “I like you! Bobby, my daddy sells new cars. You have probably seen him on TV. Dyed blond hair, six foot two, Darrel Jenkins Motors?”

“No, shit?” Bobby asked recognizing some of her features.

“Yeah, I know. He was used car salesman before I got too wild to handle. I think that is when they bought the dealership… after my sale. I don’t have daddy issues, if that is what you’re asking. I don’t blame him, Momma had him by the balls. I know he did not want a girl, so I didn’t see him much. And Momma trained me good. I don’t think I ever really got to know him. I was too busy preforming, keeping all my things perfect and avoiding beatings. I just kind of snapped when I saw other kids do it. But no, Bobby, you are nothing like my Daddy. You are just one of the most interesting men I have ever met. I noticed you had some Wittgenstein. We should talk philosophy someday. It’s one of my favorite hobbies.”

“Wittgenstein? That is some pretty deep shit, I am not even going to attempt that after a few drinks. Where did you find that?”

“Mrs. Carver pulled an honor student out of school at thirteen. But… she did take me go to the library. And as tedious and terrifying as training is, it’s really hard and that makes it mostly fun. It’s not fun to think about going back on the block and being expected to do all of those things.”

At that point, their waitress brought them their food.


	10. Wined and Dined with Burgers and Jack cont...

  
  
  
_The volume of the room picked up as the band started to test the sound system and tune their instruments._

“Come on, I know a better place to eat this,” she said beckoning him with a single finger and an inviting look. Kate walked with her burger out the back door to small patio.

The back patio had a few scattered tables, a goldfish pond at the far right end. Over to the left was a table of familiar faces to Kate.

“Got room for two more?” She hollered out to a group.

A mature blond woman hollered back and ran up for a hug. The rest of the table lit up with acknowledgements. “Ohhh! Katy girl! It is so good to see you! And who is this?” She smiled and looked Bobby up and down. Bobby stiffened up and tried to maintain his smile, he did not sign up for this.

“This is Bobby, Nancy. Let me introduce you to everyone! Oh my gosh, I am so glad you guys came out tonight!”

The table motioned for the two to join and made room for Bobby and Kate. Going around the table, there was Deedee, the hairdresser, Nancy, the housewife, Nathan the electrician, George, the school teacher, and two young men: Don and Kevin. They turned out to be Nancy’s boys and sold real estate together. Both looked to be Kate’s age or younger.  
  
Kevin looked noticeably hurt. “Kate! You said you didn’t date,” he protested. He was a handsome kid. Bobby looked him over, trying to find an obvious flaw.

Kate gave him a sly smile, “I said I did not want to date. And I didn’t, until I met Bobby.”

Bobby was midway into biting into his burger and almost choked.

“Katy! I have been buying you drinks for a like a year! Why the hell did you pick him over me?” Kevin took down the rest of his drink. He had been drinking and was getting more and more agitated. Don and the rest of the table smirked at the insult, quietly. Bobby tried not to smile so he took swig of his drink.

“Kevin James, I have been giving that money back to your momma and she has been putting it into the collection plate in your name, so you’re welcome?” Kate gave a good-natured laugh. This sparked an up roar of laughter.

Kevin slammed down his glass, “You’re fucking weird Kate! You know that?”

“I did, Kevin, I did” was her solemn reply. Kevin stormed off as Kate bite down into her burger for the first time.

Nancy put a hand on Kate’s shoulder. “Don’t worry girl, he’ll sober up. Bobby, you from around here?”

Bobby chewed quickly, “Sioux Falls, born and raised.”

“A local boy, I like it,” Nancy shook her dyed auburn hair. “What do you do, Bobby?” she asked absently. Kate remembered how people around these parts called Bobby, the town drunk and the scrap yard hermit, she spoke before he could start.

“Nancy, while I love spending time with you all, seeing as how this is my first date, I am going to move us over there by the goldfish pond, okay?”

Nathan put down his beer, looked Bobby in the eye and said, “Now, Bobby, Kate’s our girl, you take care of her, you hear?” Nathan’s tone was lighthearted but serious and menacing all in the same breath.

“Yes, sir.” Bobby said as if he were still wearing his uniform and he picked up his drink and red plastic basket and followed Kate who was already at the other end of the patio. Just then, the muffled sound of country and western filtered in to the back patio. The band had started to play.

“I’m sorry about that. I know most of those guys from church,” she said blushing.

“I did not know you were so popular. But I don’t know much other than I am sorry you are stuck with Eileen.”

“She’s not so bad…most of the time. She does have a temper and she’s really picky but as long as everything is done, she lets me do what I want,” she started smiling, “And Sundays! I can spend the whole day at church, no questions asked, and no chores.”

“That seems very reasonable,” Bobby responded nodding, trying not tell her that was like saying at least Buffalo Bill gave that nice young woman lotion and a basket. “Now, what did that old woman say about me?” he asked in genuine curiosity.

Kate laughed loud and then bit her bottom lip. “You really wanna know?” Bobby narrowed his eyes and smiled.

Kate opened her eyes wide, “Well, she said that you must have sold your soul for your manhood on account of that was how you hooked Karen. She said you hypnotized Karen with the ‘sex.’ I did not ask if that was from speculation or from actual accounts… I seriously would love to know what Freud would say about that.”

Bobby chuckled, “I do not know what to say, but I will tell you my soul is intact. She say anything else?”

Kate twisted her mouth to the side in thought, “You know, that you had the manners of a grease monkey, grooming habits of a tramp… the homeless man, not the prostitute, and you were too educated to make any good sense. She had more than a few remarks about your flatulence…”

“I think that is all I want to know right now.”

“Point taken.” Kate paused, listening to the first few bars of the band playing a cover of The Eagle’s Desperado. Her mind wandered back to the first and only dance she ever attended. Her seventh grade dance. She had wanted to ask David Hardy to dance. She froze and someone got to him first. She was not going to let that happen again. Her stomach twisted into knots. He was trying to drink the remainder of his drink, which at this point was melting ice.

“You wanna dance, Bobby?” she asked quickly.

“Um, sure?” Bobby’s near empty glass clanged on the wood table as he allowed her to pull him onto the dance floor.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and nuzzled into his chest. Bobby smiled nervously, placing his hands on her hips as if by some ancient instinct. He felt like he was back in the sixth grade. The boys on one side of the room and the girls on the other. And everyone there watching and judging everyone else. He noticed there was some strangers nodding in approval, disapproval and looking on with interest at his date’s choice of suitor. Quickly he decided he had spent his whole life ignoring what other people thought and now was not the best time to start caring. He had been quite a dancer during his time in the Marines. It was not necessary to mention that a giant man named Domino had taught him during kitchen detail. The old hunter tilted his head down and inhaled the sweet sent in her hair. Bobby recognized the last bars and dipped her deep, catching a look in her eyes that sent him a bolt of fire deep into is stomach and threatened to expose his desire. He brought her up slowly. She panted softly and fanned herself with her hand. As he was about to thank her for the dance, the band started up with Hank William Jr.’s song “Family Tradition.”

“You two-step Bobby?” She asked smiling, not letting go of him.

“Of course!” he said, taking her hand and pulling her in time around the dance floor.

Kate did not drink much. She knew she was driving. She knew if she got caught there would be hell to pay. Around 11, she asked Bobby if he wanted to go home. Being agreeable and tired he said yes.  
They pulled into Bobby’s lot. As she parked she undid her seat belt and straddled him in one acrobatic motion.   
  
“Hello,” Bobby said surprised. Her slender firm thighs pressing gently up against his. He felt a spark fire through his spine, he’s half hard as she looked into his blue eyes. Every chemical screamed to take her in his arms and not let go. No, no. He might actually like this girl. This very bizarre and complicated girl. Kate put her soft hands on his face, holding him gently feeling the warmth and kissed him gently.   
  
She fell back into her seat with a breath and said, “Thank you, Bobby. It was really a wonderful night… I have to get home before I get it. Scoot!”

“Oh, Okay. Goodnight.” He said quickly as he peeled himself off the vinyl seat and barely had time to close the door when she tore off. The door slammed shut as he felt a rush of wind. He looked down at his watch, ten till midnight.

“Poor girl,” he said out-loud to the deserted yard. He remembered what happened to Karen when she was late. Shaking his head, he touched his lips. Jesus, a first kiss. When was the last time he had a first kiss that was not attached to some drunken fevered night of sex? It was nice. Getting to know someone.  
  
  
  
When he got in the Dean was fast asleep. Sam was up late studying slave law. Occasionally pulling at his long hair. He did this when he was nervous.  
  
“You okay, Sam? You look like somebody sold your puppy.”

“Nope, just my brother… to me. She’s right Bobby. I hope I can do this. How was your date?”

“Fine, fine…well better than fine. Pretty great. But the clock struck midnight, she had to go home. To my mother-in-law of all the nasty bitches. I remember how she treated her own daughter, can’t imagine what she’d do to slave.” Bobby said sadly.

“That is amazing! I mean, I am glad you had a good time.”

“Yeah, alright. Time to turn in Sam. Finish up. I am sure you can do this in the morning.”

“Yeah, yeah, goodnight.”

Bobby watched the bleary eyed young man climb the staircase. Then he looked around at the house. It looked so different with people living in it. The kitchen was clean, food was stocked, and the air hummed with the energy of the added men. His whole life had turned upside down in the span of a week. Bobby felt a chill run through his shirt that was still damp from the evening of dancing. He climbed the stairs and turned into his room.

He looked around at what had become of it. His two sitting chairs had about two weeks’ worth of laundry piled high. A sack of bloody clothes in a laundry bag he needed to burn or wash. His sheets needed to be washed. His whistled low at the site. Yeah, he did not enjoy the life of a bachelor. Karen cared about all of that for him. If he was really honest, he would say she cared about the two of them for him. She had taken a cynical paranoid bastard and turned him into loving husband. After she died, he just picked up where he left off.

He thought about Kate. Her job of serving that hateful woman. All the sudden, the room felt worse that it had in decades. “Damnit. Now we care about our fucking room?” he thought to himself. The chance this girl, who was crazy… No, not crazy. Eccentric? Interesting? Beautiful? The chance she wanted to see this room for romantic purposes was not lost on him. She might. Hell, she did take him out, wined and dined him, flattered him and then took off. And that kiss. Goddamn. Did all first kisses feel like this? He couldn’t remember but hell, he doubted it.

Bobby lifted his eyebrows, pushed up his sleeves and began throwing dirty clothes in big pile in the middle of the room. Took out some clean sheet and half made the bed. He pulled himself into a hot shower. Throwing on a proper set of pajamas, settling into some clean sheets, he closed his eyes. He tried to sleep, but the day and night replayed over and over.


	11. Bathtime

  
  
Kate’s truck pulled into Bobby's yard the next day at 9 AM sharp.

_The old Chevy rumbled to a stop. Kate smiled and bit her lip. She looked stared at the grey and white wooden molding. Bobby’s quaint porch was the only inviting part of his property. She shook her head, did she make a mistake? Last night was her first date. She had been resisting the urge to call him, write him a poem, and ask him if he wanted to run away with her. Pulling a few loose strands of hair behind her head, she wondered what Bobby would think of Mrs. Carver correction last night. Then she remembered that Karen had spent more time under her thumb. He probably had a good idea._

She was wearing dark blue leggings and a long black shirt. She seemed to hobble a little today.  
  
Kate pulled the door open and followed her nose to the kitchen, where the three men enjoyed their morning coffee. 

“How are my boys today?” Kate asked brightly.   

“Great, um could you come sit down and have a look at this? I have been researching slave law and I have a few questions,” Sam poured over a few books and an open laptop.  He kicked a chair next to him for her to take next to him. 

“Sorry, Sam. I had strong reminder about tardiness last night,” Kate said rubbing below her hip. “I can show you, if it is helpful. I am not shy. My master is stricter that is recommended but she does not discipline out of turn, I should have watched the clock better.” Kate said pointedly.

Sam and Dean looked at each other not knowing what to say. Bobby was at a loss as well.

“Honestly! Boys!” Kate pulled down her underwear and pants to reveal angry red welts. “This is what 15 lashes with the cane looks like. I was fifteen minutes late.” Looking around the room she saw pity and concern.  
  
“Seriously, this is not bad. Okay, let’s collect ourselves and move on. Sam, please email me with your questions about law or anything you are concerned about. Now we need to get started. Today we are going to give Dean a bath.”

“What?” the room was almost in perfect unison.

“Really, you boys need to get over this. We are not going to gangbang your brother Sam. You are going to learn to handle him. You should really do this once a week.”

“Do you have to get a bath from that lady?” Dean asked. Bobby punched him in the arm.

“No, Dean, I do not have the police record you have, nor does my master have any qualms about handling me. Yes, every five years we go to the bureau and it is awful and demeaning but she and I get fine scores. Yours, was really the lowest I have seen in a while. Did no one tell what was going to happen?”

“No, Dean forgot to mention it,” Sam said looking at Dean under his nose. 

“You could have been absolutely perfect and with Dean’s record they still would have sent me. But now you really must show control and you must show restraint.” She said pointing at Sam and Dean respectably.

“This is an exercise, we usually recommend for abusive masters. It can bring the two closer together and this way the master is using a gentle touch, not punitive. Sam we need you to be able to touch him at all. So this would be a good start. Dean, you actually might enjoy this.”

Dean blushed. Kate directed Sam and Dean upstairs.  
  
Bobby stayed downstairs without prompting.  
  
  
Kate walked into the bathroom first. Bobby kept a clean but dusty house. A large white footed tub stood firm to the left of the door. Kate smiled. The tub would not have to be scrubbed to start. She looked around at the dated bathroom. Karen had painted the walls a rich blue and Bobby had installed black and white tiles that covered the floors and white tiles that surround the walls from floor to waist level. It was Karen’s favorite room. She loved to soak in that giant tub.

  
Bobby didn’t use this room much, now. He still considered it hers. He had even kept the sailor theme towel set and tiny soaps that had melted into their soap dish. When he looked at the towels he sighed. He remember the scuffled they had had over the theme. He argued that South Dakota was so land locked it, made no damn sense to decorate a bathroom like it was going set sail. She would laugh and tell him it did not matter where you were, it matter how you felt when you were there. He still hated those towels, but she won most of their domestic disputes.  
  
  
Kate pulled out a clear bag. In it was a brush, a large rough Turkish bath mitt, a bottle of soap, and a bottle of oil.

“This is a bath kit. You are going to scrub and wash every part of your brother. Do not give me that look… I am still here. Okay, first we need a heater.” Dean left the room and got one from the hall closet. “… Good, Dean, turn it on high, remove your clothes, take a seat and wait. You should work up a good sweat. Do not turn on any water. Yes, Good boy…” Kate pulled Sam out of the bathroom back to the back room.

“We will wait for Dean, this should take… half an hour. We will bring him some cold water. Then you will rinse him off with tepid water. Have him stand and then you will give Dean a dry massage. You will use this mitt to coarsely remove all the excess skin cells from non-sensitive areas. This would be the back, chest, stomach, legs. After that, we lather him up with this soap, the genitals and anus you will hand wash with a washcloth. I swear to God Sam if you look away, I will take hand to you. Then we use cold water is rinse his skin and we will give Dean a massage with some oil.”

Sam squinted a little, trying to take in everything she said. “So he’s going to the Spa?” he asked uncomfortably.

“Yes. Once a week. During this time, pay attention to what he likes and doesn’t. This is for him… We have about twenty minutes until Dean is ready for us. You are going to practice with the tools. Bobby told me about you propelled Dean into the mirror at the discipline shop,” Kate giggled slightly . “So let’s have you practice on the bench. Not too loud. We do not want to spook your brother. He should be relaxing. Remember flick your wrist,” she smiled.

Sam practiced flicking. Then the two of them found a naked Dean sitting in a towel, sweating on the toilet.

 

“Is this really necessary? Oh! Water, thank you!” Dean chugged the water and then looked up.

Dean relaxed a little.  “What’s next?” he asked amused.

“Sam run the bath, and then take a brush to Dean’s hair,”

Sam turned on the water and looked uncomfortable. Then Kate handed Sam a brush. Sam handled the brush awkwardly and brushed Dean’s hair. Dean looked up and had to try hard to keep from laughing.

“We can forget this and go back to other room, Dean,” Kate warned.

Dean swallowed. “Nope, this is fine. Sweating in Bobby’s bathroom is way more fun than the other room.”

“Good. Now take Dean’s hand and lead him to the tub.” Sam took Dean’s hand and pulled him too hard, he almost lost his footing.

“It is like you too lost all motor coordination. This is not difficult. If I have to start correcting you both, I will.”

Both boys stared at her wide eyed.

“Good, now stop this silliness and do what I say and remember it. I am not known for my patience. Now take a small amount of shampoo, lather it, and wash his hair.”

Sam tried to do this with more purpose and a steadier hand.

“Good, now a little deeper. Alright now take the shower head and rinse, making sure the water is not too hot…Not too close! Too close! Ahh, you are spraying him the eyes!” Kate said shaking her head.

“Oh! Oh! Sorry.”

Dean just rubbed his head.

“Now,” Kate said exhausted. “Take the wash cloth and gently, but not too gently, clean the areas we are not going to scrub… Dean hold still…Don’t get soap in his mouth. Sweet Jesus!”

Dean spit the soap out and smiled.

“Stand up Dean. I am not sure how this is going to go, but please wash Dean’s penis, balls and anus.”

“Woah! No. No, way,” Sam said putting his hands up in retreat.

“You stay in the bath,” Kate pointed to Dean.

“You, I need to talk to in the other room,” she gave a hard finger to Sam.

Dean shook his head, sank back into the tub, trying not to laugh too loudly at his brother.

Kate shut the door behind Sam with a slight slam. Sam pulled his neck back as he stared at her.

“What the hell is wrong with you? You realize what people will do to him if he goes back on that block? You are going to have to do this in two years whether you are ready or not. Now. On your knees.”

“What?” Sam ask in disbelief.

“You heard me!” Sam looked quizzically but did what she said, hesitantly. Looking up at her with sad eyes and on his knees. She grabbed his upper arm and swatted him ten times with black leather paddle, hard and quick.

“Seriously, grow up.” Then she let go, tossed the paddle onto the bed, and walked out of the room, leaving Sam whimpering and stunned.

 

Sam tried to blink back the tears as rejoined them. Dean was smiling contently from the bath.

Kate flashed a stern look. “Try again. From the beginning. Here is the shampoo. Do not fuck up or we go back.”

Sam’s hands were shaky but he did a much better job.

“Now. Here is the washcloth.” She eyed him angrily. “Much better. Now the penis, balls and anus. Look, Sam. Watch what you are doing.”

Sam nodded. “Stand up, Dean.” Sam said calmly. Kate nodded, smiling slightly. Sam carefully washed his brother.

“Now rinse him off… Good. Now we fold this towel told over the tub, Dean, lean over here. Good boy. Now with some strength, rub this cloth deeply into his muscles. They are swore from stress and work… that is good! Now, arms, good… Legs…Bottom…Deep Sam… Good, turn around. Turn around, Dean!” Kate shook her head again. “Now, his chest… See it is not so bad. Empty the tub and then hose him off gently. Good. Now here is a towel. Good. Now we are going to Dean’s room. Here is some oil. Rub some into his back and then allow Dean to sleep if he needs it. After you are finished, cover him with a blanket. When you are done, come down stairs. We need to talk about what I saw today. Then it is time for me to say goodbye. You were a very good boy today Dean.” Kate rubbed Dean’s shoulder.

Kate stayed outside the room to make sure Sam had begun the massage. When she was sure he would finish, she trotted down the stairs to look around for Bobby.

“You done for the day?” Bobby asked.

“Not yet, just wanted to say Hello,” she smiled. Then sat next to him. He looked at her and smiled. With a nod of his head, he said, “Hello. You have plans, tonight?”

“I am kinda grounded after last night,” Kate blushed. “I told her I met up with some church friends for some dancing and I got caught up giving someone a ride home. Which is technically true… Sunday I am off. You have plans tomorrow night? I do have to be home by ten on the Sunday through Thursday.”

“Come over, I’ll cook, then maybe we could watch a movie.”

“I’ll be over by seven.”

Sam came down the stairs. His face was red and he had a hard time making eye contact with Kate.

“I’m sorry, Sam. But you needed a reason to do this. Logic was just not enough. Now, you progressed a great deal. You know this is mainly about you. John trained Dean long ago. You just need learn to take over.”

Sam’s stomach dropped and the he nodded, “I know. Thank you.”

Kate twisted her head, “You are welcome. Tomorrow is Sunday, my day off. Monday, we will work on a chore list and keeping up with it. Good bye for now, Ciao.” Kate walked out of the room, blowing Bobby a kiss.

Sam eyed the door, like she might come back, then said, “Are you sure you want to date this girl, Bobby, she’s a little demanding.”

“You mean intolerant of bullshit? I think we’ll get along just fine,” Bobby said laughing.

 

Dean emerged from his nap at 1 pm.

“Oh, my God! That was the best damn nap I have had in a long time! Bobby… I like that girl!”

“And why is that Dean?” Bobby asked suspicious.

“She beat the hell out Sam up there for being a pussy!”

“What?”

“Yep. That happened,” Sam confessed.

“And he thanked her for it. That is like the best bitch ever!”

“Language, Dean,” Sam said warning.

Dean looked guilty and confused, all at the same time.

“I think that’s my girl you are talking about,” Bobby said, trying not to smile.

“By the way, how was your date?” Sam asked as he gingerly took a seat to drink his coffee.

“Great, now I need you two yahoos out of here by 7 and do not, I repeat do not come back before 10.”

“Any particular reason?” Dean teased.

“Shut up, ya idjits.”


	12. Soup and Steak

  
  
  
  
Sunday night a cold wind blew through the open window, rustling Dean’s paperwork for employment. Wrapped snuggly in an orange, green and yellow quilt, hand sewn by Karen, Dean’s body began to shake as his nightmares returned. He tossed and turned. Memories long dead resurfaced and caused him cold sweats.

 

I _n dreams, Dean found himself back at dump in Arkansas. The ramshackle old duplex Dad rented when he was in the tenth grade. In a foggy haze, he fingered that notch at the base of his skull. A few days prior, his father preformed the spell to cover the tattoo, disrupt the EMF enough to fool the detectors at school. Damn, it still burned. Every six month felt like John opened a battery and dropped acid into a wound. A week after that? Dean was not a slave to anyone but John. After that first inspection? John made every effort to remind his young son of that fact whenever they were alone._

_Dean inhaled and looked down at the beaten up Casio watch. Dad was coming home soon. He fed Sammy then tasked the kid to finish his homework and stay in their room. Dean did not know what to expect, accept that hell was on its way home._

_Dean remembered the previous night with a shudder._

_Thursday. John should have come home on Saturday. The hunt turned out to be a bust. Pastor Jim sent him home with a new silver knife and few new spells. John returned home quickly, anxious to teach the boys. When he got home, found his youngest son shivering outside, reading Kafka by streetlight waiting for Dean._

_By the time Dean got home, John was drunk. So drunk he spent thirty solid minutes cursing and breaking things. After he stopped, the man had tired himself to the point of inaction._

_“Git to bed you sonofabitch! Can’t even stand to look at you!” the old man hissed. As Dean walked up the stairs, John called back, “Don’t even think you aren’t going pay for this. Tomorrow night. When I get home. You better be ready when I get home, boy.” The Marine’s teeth pulled up in snarl._

_Because, you know, waiting for what’s next is not ample punishment in itself._

_Friday Night._

_Dean dropped down to his knees, patiently waiting for his father. Arms at his side, siting with perfect posture on his heels. In this position, he felt less like crying, less sorry for himself. More that this was his place in life. No choice. No decision. No guilt. Just follow orders. Obey. No choice._

_Everything muddied itself when Sammy was around. With his brother, Dean felt like kid. With Sammy around, his father was his Dad and he had a brother. He forgot himself. Again. The cute blond girl he met at school and the party he got invited to. There, he was not nothing. He was handsome, quick, fun and really a chick magnet._  
_It was when Dean walked home. John reminded him of the ugly truth. The truth that all he had could be taken away with a phone call. The ads on the TV spouted reminders all the damn time. “Tired of your slave? Can’t control them anymore? Need a quick sale? We’ll come to you!”_

_Dean rolled his shoulders, his thoughts interrupted by the slam of the car door. Heavy steel and glass rattling with a bang. Dean’s young heart skipped its beat._

_The heavy footfalls of John’s boots rang in the teen’s ears. The pace so slow he could count. Dean’s hands started to shake. He clutched them together hoping it would calm his nerves._  
_Before John could speak, “Dad… Sir, I thought he’d be okay!”_

_“Thought and knew are two different things Dean,” John’s voice gravely and deep, he stunk of Vodka._

_“I am sorry, Dad. I just needed to get out. Be a kid…” Dean wanted to kick himself. Like that would work._

_“You be a kid when I am in the Goddamn house. You protect your brother when I am away,” his father was remarkably calm. Eerily calm. Dean should be tasting blood or feeling leather by now._

_“I’m sorry…” Dean offered._

_John sat down with a slum on the straightly made up bed complete with military corners. His old hands cradling his heavy head. He barely looked up._

_“Not half as sorry as I am going to make you… ” John bared his teeth without thought, “What the hell good are you if you can’t protect Sam? You want to earn your keep? Than you keep eyes on him! Then you train, then you train harder.” John spoke in a whisper, “You want to stay boy? You want me to sell you off, buy someone to keep a real eye on Sammy?”_

_“No! No, sir. I am sorry! I will do whatever you want, please, Sir. Anything.” Dean now paled white and tears flowing in steady streams._

_“I know you will, son, I know you will,” John stood up, slowly locking his bedroom door._

_About twenty minutes past, Dean emerged for John’s room. He walked over to the bathroom, and then put both hands on the rim of the sink, his weight shifting as his mouth watered. He gaged._

_Dean wiped a few tears as Sammy looked at him from over a book. He tried to return Sammy’s smile._  
_“Why you brushing your teeth again?” Sam asked closing The Fellowship of the Rings._

_Dean coughed a little. “Indigestion. Dad made me write lines and the chili is not settling well.”_

_“What did you do last night? Why hell did Dad loss it? I mean he always loses it but last night? I was afraid he’d bury the both of us…”_

_“He smelled beer and I abandoned my post…” Dean lightened up a little. It was a great night._

_“Oh my GOSH! You drank a beer?” Sammy asked, eyes and smile wide._

_“Yeah, and I danced with Amanda Parker. She is so beautiful. I am definitely gonna get it tomorrow but hell, it was almost worth it. Sorry I wasn’t here when you got home…”_

_“Jez, Dean, tell me next time. I could have stayed longer at the library.”_

_“Don’t worry about it, it was stupid of me. You shouldn’t have to cover for my partying ass.”_

~*~

Sioux Falls, ND  
Monday Morning 9AM  
  
  


Kate arrived for her appointment on time. Upon completion, she described her third meeting in her write-up as productive.

She worked with Dean and Sam on chores, expectations, and consequences. Dean agreed to do the laundry, make lunch and dishes once a day. The reward? Sam would take Dean hunting twice a month. They mapped out Dean’s day, working with Bobby, chores, hygiene. Kate told Sam he would have to take Dean to the dentist according to the new laws. Sam scheduled that while Kate taught Dean to make a soup from scratch.

She did have one incident.

“No dear, rock the knife. You are not hacking up rabbit. You are delicately slicing carrots,” she said evenly.

“Rabbit? What the hell are you talking about?” Dean asked as his face soured. 

“You and Sam are hunters, correct? I assume that means you kill animals,” she replied confused.  Dean saw the gears turning.  She was getting wise. 

“Animals… yeah, but not rabbits…” Dean said quickly as a save.

Kate huffed and changed the subject.

“Mrs. Carver loves this soup. I think Sam will enjoy it.”

“Sorry Kate, but your master is a grade A bitch! Seriously, how do you live like that? She is a sadist. What the hell’s your secret? How do you put up with all of that?”

Kate dropped her knife, stood up from the table and grabbed his chin to look her in the eye.

Dean felt a chill chase down his spine. She looked scary. Serial killer scary.  Vampire scary. 

“Dean? Do you remember who I am? I am your trainer. Two steps below your master,” her eyes narrowed as Dean fought stay still and not back away. She looked pissed as hell. Normally her ire was calm and controlled. Now? She looked wild.

“You just insulted the only family I got, Dean. I should rap your palms for that. You think cooking is hard? Try doing with your hand’s swollen and bloody from the cane.” Kate’s eye twitched.

“I’m sorry, Kate,” Dean said sincerely.

“She keeps me in line, Dean. I have never gotten in trouble with the police. I am an upstanding member of the community. Sam’s hand needs to get much heavier if you are going pass this inspection… And my master is not a sadist. You ever met a sadist Dean? You ever been left with someone who enjoys every ounce of pain and humiliation they can inflict?” Kate inhaled and stomped over to the sink, scrubbing some potatoes too hard. Softly, almost too soft for Dean to hear, Kate whispered to herself, almost to reassure herself, “She’s not Mrs. Johnson…”

Dean cranked his neck. This girl had problems. He kept his head down. Happy to follow instructions and get this day over with.

Kate cheered up after they completed the soup. She found some dusty placemats and had Dean shake them out outdoors. She taught Dean the proper way to set a proper table. He tried hard not roll his eyes. She found some of the last of the summer wild flowers that grew on the far side of Bobby’s property.

Kate left soon after lunch was prepared and set out. Pausing briefly to remind Bobby of their date.

“You do something? Why the hell’d she leave so quick?” Bobby asked in passing.

“No idea. Maybe she had to get home?” Dean offered, not wanting to relive the awkwardness.

 

Bobby cocked his head a little. Everything about that girl was a mystery unraveling. No sense getting worked up about it.

He and Dean worked in the yard, while Sam cleaned, looked over Bobby’s books, and looked through slave law again. Bobby found Sam looking into law schools in South Dakota, almost smiling about it.  
  
  


Kate’s truck pulled in at 7:00 pm sharp. He watched her climb out of that beater. She wore a pink dress, red choker and black boots. She hopped over to Bobby’s door, noticing the black Chevy was out of the yard. She gave the door a gentle wrap. Bobby answered the door without a gun. In fact, he wore a smile and a clean shirt.

“You’re alone tonight, aren’t you?” she asked with a squint as she walked in.

“I didn’t think I’d be, I thought I’d be spending time with you.” he quipped back.

“There is no one else at home?” she smiled staring at her toes.

“Just you and me darling.”

Kate smiled and settled into one of the ancient burnt orange sofas and patted the seat. Bobby smiled gently, sitting next to her.

“Where did you learn to work on cars? Did you learn from books like me?” she asked looking too long into his eyes.

“Nah, I learned in the Marines. Both Dean and I learned from John Winchester. His stepdad was from a long line of Mechanics.”

“You knew John Winchester?” she said with wistfully.

“Yeah, he was jackass. I shot him more than once. He used to leave those boys with me for months at a time. They’d come, shaking and recovering from some bullshit he put them through. Kids need some fucking time to be kids.”

“You ever get time to be a kid, Bobby?”

“I don’t remember much. It feels like a big haze. My dad was just like John. A mean fucking drunk.”

“I don’t know why people do it. Have children when they sort of hate children?”

“I tried to take Sam and Dean from John more than once. He had some sort of goddamn mission for them.”

“I know he was probably difficult, but John Winchester is one of my heroes. Not many people have made more effective change than that man. He gave us so many rights we didn’t have before. Mrs. Carver even changed how she treated me when the new laws came out.”

Bobby lifted his eyebrows half way. Not real sure what to say to that. This was better than before?

Kate evidently noticing his discomfort changed the subject.

“What was the Marines like?”

Bobby put his hands on his knees and pushed back. “There was a lot of hurry up and wait. Do this, clean that, and shoot that. There was so little time to think. I remember I knew exactly how many seconds it took to brush my teeth, tie my shoes, and chew my food. There was so much work, we were busy from the time we woke up to the time we hit the pillow. They made me stronger and tougher than I thought was even fucking possible. The hazing was nothing. None of those Marines were half as sadistic as Frank Singer… The Marines were good for me though, I walked out there feeling safer than I ever had. It’s hard to push someone when they have gone down further and come up again. Vietnam was hell but John got us through it. Jesus, I am sorry. I am probably bringing you down. You want to watch a movie or something?”

“Nope. I just like listening to you. I thought it might have taken some hell to get you here Bobby. Interesting people aren’t made with sugar and spice. I have to know, what made you come out with me last night?”

“Well… You can be really charming,” he chuckled. “And I guess I was tired of only take risks that involved life and death… You know, in the scrap business…” Damnit, he thought to himself. I better at lying to the FBI than I am to this girl.

“Keep your secrets Darling. Someday, you’ll have to tell me what the hell you meant by that, but I don’t need to know now,” she chuckled.

“Maybe it was time to trust another human being… Also you might be the most forward girl I ever met. To tell you the truth I was a little afraid to say no.”

“Good to know! You know, that information could come back to bite you in the ass, Mr. Singer.”

“You are trouble little girl.”

“No truer words.”

Bobby eyed her with a smile. “Tell me why you never gave that Kevin kid a chance.”

“Oh, Bobby! Have a few conversations with the boy! He’s nice enough. But it’s got to hit me like fire, Bobby. Kevin does not light my fire.”

Bobby looked around at the room that was growing darker with the setting of the summer sun.

“I’ll turn this light on…” he said nervously, unsure where the fear was coming from.

As he turned back around, she had gotten up and was staring at him. Kate licked her lips, then bit her lower one. She walked forward and gently pushed Bobby back on a dusty couch and sat and hugged his legs with her thighs. She allowed herself to look into his eyes and gently touched the hair on his head as if it fine silk. She fought herself to show restrain but lost in the end. She kissed him deeply, passionately, like there could never be a better man.

In between kisses, Bobby said, “I made…dinner… and we could… Ah, hell. I’m not hungry.”

With that, he decided to trust her. She had made every move and he had followed. At that moment, he seized the reigns and pushed her on the couch. He kissed her neck and she moaned despite herself. Indecision and doubt crept in to his head. Refusing take their leave.

“You’re kind a pretty to hanging around an old dog like me.”

“I’m just hoping you don’t bite…too hard,” she smiled. He kissed her harder then stopped.

“Really, I’d like to talk about it. What are you doing here?” he asked abruptly. Yep. Still a paranoid bastard. God, he hoped she wasn’t a witch. He fucking hated witches.

She looked startled. “You asked me, Bobby.”

“I know that… why do you want to hang out with old man and not Sam or Dean?”

“You’re serious?” He nodded.

She pulled herself up until she was sitting on the couch, straightened her dress and rolled her shoulders straighter. “I will always give you an ego boost when prompted,” she smiled, “You love old cars, you have taken in those two kids and treat them like family when they are clearly far from blood. You did not push me off because I am a slave, you treat me like a lady. You’re handsome as hell, you dance like the devil, kiss like lightening and I cannot get enough of the way you smell. And I love all of these things so much and I know there is no future for you with me. I am happy to be with you in this small way until you are through with me.”

“You make a compelling case…”

“Don’t I?”

“You hungry?”

Kate bit her lip and shook her head slowly. They kissed, talked, laughed and rolled around until 9:30.

“I’m sorry.” With that, she jumped up and took off.

 

~*~

Sam and Dean came home at about 10:05. Bobby was looking a half-eaten steak and the remains of dinner left mostly uneaten.

“Did she not show, Bobby?” Sam asked sadly.

“No she came over…”

“You invited her to dinner, right?” Dean asked confused.

“I did.” Bobby said looking at the table.

“She didn’t like it?” Sam said dropping his tone.

“Don’t know.” He said smiling.

Sam and Dean looked at each other, shrugging.

“Look you two, are about as nosey as two gossiping church hags. If you are hungry dig in, if not shut the fuck up and go to bed.” He said quickly putting his fork down. He huffed and walked upstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda filler. Thing get shaken up next chapter. It’ll make more sense later


	13. See You in about a Week

Sioux Falls, SD 9 AM.  
  
  
  
“You could set a watch by that girl,” Bobby said looking out the window.

Kate came inside with a notebook. “Let’s sit down in the living room and discuss what we are doing today.” After they settled with their coffee, Kate pulled out her notebook. “We need to go over what Dean is expected to do day to day, his goals, skills, and responsibilities. You boys ready for that?” Nods all around.

“I am curious about something… What the hell do you boys do that got you in so much trouble the past three years? The arrests, the escapes, the aliases, and are you still doing it?”  
  
Sam and Dean looked at each other, nodding. “Bobby, you got this right?” Before he had time to respond, they left the room. Bobby looked around the room for anything that would help.

“Wait… what is going on?” Kate asked as she looked around the nearly empty room. 

“I am guessing you are going to be in the category of need-to-know. Sam, Dean, their father and I are hunters,” Bobby said plainly.  

“Bounty hunters?” She didn’t look surprised.

“Not exactly...”

“Poachers?” She looked concerned, trying to put pieces together.

“Hell no!” Bobby exhaled. “We kind of hunt monsters.”

“Ghost hunters?”

“No, those guys are assholes. We hunt monsters, ghosts, demons, and the like.”

“Huh, that is what the books are for?”

“Yeah, you noticed that?”

“I am kind of quick for a slave.”

“I noticed that.”

“Okay, well, that is done. We are going to need to find other kinds of employment until Dean is re-evaluated in two and a half years. Dean! Sam! Come back.”

 

Kate looked to Sam.  “Your father was a hunter? How did he pull it off, Sam? He had employment for years a time. He kept Dean employed and he did not get in near as much trouble with the law. What is different?”

Dean and Sam looked at each other quizzically. Then Dean shook his head. “Dad was good. He was real good. He kept up with us, a job and the job.”

“You boys are going to need to find real jobs. Sam, I see you have a degree in prelaw. Do you still want to go to law school?”

“I kind of figured that was out of the question. We have work we have to do.”

“Can you do it without Dean?”

“No. I mean kind of? We have gone separate ways before.”

“What is your pay scale for work like this? Do you charge money for services?”

“No, not really. We do it because people are in danger. Because it’s important.”

“How important is your brother’s freedom? Physical safety?”

“Okay, okay, what are our options? What are they looking for?”

“You need a job that will support you and Dean. Your income must be stable and high enough to support you both, which, in this state, puts you at about $40k. You could also go back to school but then Bobby would have to support Dean. Do you make over $40k, Bobby?”

Bobby squinted a little. “Not since I start hunting, no. I make enough to get by.”

“That leaves Sam getting a job, going back to school, or losing his brother. Dean can get a job but it will not count towards total income. The purpose of a slave is not for you to live off of them, but for you to support and protect them and in turn, they provide you with services. What are your plans, Sam?”

“I have not had a job for a while… If I went back to school, on a full ride, what income level would I have to have?”

“Let’s see…You would need another designated party to take responsibility for Dean in your absence. Then they would need training. Do you have any responsible family friends?”

“No, everyone we know is dead or is hunting…”

“You could work for a law office and go to school. Dean would need a job too.”

“I still know a few people at Stanford. Maybe I could get a job and do correspondence at a legal office in town.”

“How did Dad earn that much money? We were really poor…”

“Before the income requirement, people either worked or whored out their slaves.”

“Oh…” Sam looked down.

“Why is everything so fucked up all the goddamn time? This is fucking bullshit!” Dean cried, then turned to Kate, defeated.

“Don’t worry, these are hard questions. It would not make sense to correct you now.”

Kate inhaled a deep breath, taking a long swallow of water.

“Well, let’s not get lost in the weeds. You have two years to meet these requirements. Working for Bobby, as long as no one goes hungry, will be fine for now. Call your connections. Please remember, Dean will need a guardian to ensure public safety because of the arrests.”

“I need a drink,” Dean said putting his hand to his head.

“Dean! It’s 10 in the morning!” Bobby chided.

“Do not tell me that coffee is not Irish, old man.”

“Idgit… Fine. You thirsty Kate?”

“I’m fine… We can make up this session tomorrow when you have had time to figure things out. I can make lunch before I leave in the morning. You boys have a lot to consider. The good news with your degree, 40K in a major city should not be too hard to pull off.”

Sam was pulling on his hair looking into the computer like it was going to up and answer back.

“Sammy, quit it,” Dean said swatting Sam’s hand away from his hair.

“Dean…” Kate exhaled.

“Can it. Really. I think we need some time, Kate.”

Kate looked at them and bit her cheek. “That is fine with me. Bobby, I am grounded tonight. Laundry and TV night. See you tomorrow?” Kate kissed him on the lips and walked out the door.

 

As Kate walked out the door, Dean paused. 

“How did you land that, Bobby?” Dean asked honestly.

“I don’t know,” Bobby said with a far-off look in his eyes, shaking his head. He walked over to one of the many bookshelves and pulled out a binder that looked to be about fifteen years old. “Come over here, Dean. This is the kind of business I did before I started drinking and hunting.”

“Holy shit, Bobby! This was $80K in 1985. What the hell did you do with all of it?”

“I bought the surrounding lots. Karen insisted we save everything and pay down the mortgage as fast as we could. She took a job as a secretary and I worked real hard. I sold scrap and repaired cars. I own about 15 acres. We could farm it, lease it, or sell it. I could also start taking in cars to do work on. Repairing cars is really more profitable than restoring them. I just hate dealing with people.” Bobby pulled on his beard a little in thought. “I have to would hand the hunter phones off to someone else. I’d have to quit the sauce,”

Both boys looked at each other in disbelief. They had heard a lot of crazy things come out Bobby’s mouth but quitting drinking had never been one of them. Until now.

Dean spoke first. “Bobby are you sure? You ready to give up drinking?”

“Probably should,” the older man looked him in the eye.

Sam chimed in concerned, “You know you can’t go cold turkey. That could kill you, Bobby.”

“I should probably detox. You boys be okay if I left for a week or two?”

“Sure, Bobby, we’ll be fine,” said Sam.

“You okay with this, Bobby? I don’t want you to change your life because of me.”

“It might be for Kate, it might be that someone saw something good in me. That hasn’t happened in such a long time. Might be it’s just time. Tell her I’m thinking of her. I am going to go to Minneapolis and try to get right.”

“Okay Bobby, we love you. Really, thank you for everything,” Sam said soulfully.

“For Christ’s sake, I am drying out, not _dying._  See you next week. Damn.”

With that, Bobby walked out the door. He carried nothing but his wallet. He did not want to change his mind. He climbed into the old station wagon and drove off.

The house hummed without Bobby. It seemed to notice his absence. The boys heard all kinds of odd noises in the silence. Sam’s mouth stayed open till he heard the old car drive away.

“Did you think that would happen?”

“I did not think I would be passed over for Bobby. I mean, at this point, up is down, cats are dogs and Bobby’s getting clean and I am getting drunk today,” Dean said with a shake of his head.

“Seriously?”

“Why the fuck not? I have not felt this worthless since Dad was alive.”

“Oh, Jesus, are you going to go all bitch on me?”

“Fuck you.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. Why do you feel worthless?”

“Fuck, Sammy, you’re going back to school. Hunting is out of the question. I have no fucking idea what the hell _I_ am going to do.”

“Let me take care of it. We’ll work it out. The world is no longer coming to end. Let’s just get ourselves together!”

“I’ll go work on that Caddy. Not much else I can do to solve this.”

“Hey, shut up! You know you could sell anything, fix anything, and seduce anyone.”

“You thinking of whoring me out? It’s against the law, Sam.”

“Ha. Ha. I’ll answer the phones, and call my contacts. Maybe I can get a job at a firm. Maybe go back to school.”

“Yep.” Dean walked out to the yard, bee-lining for Bobby’s secret stash. Wishing there was some way for him to not be such a burden. Wishing there was some way for him see a future.


	14. Rough Night, Rougher Morning

  
  
  
  
Sioux Falls, SD 9 AM

The sun rose a little over an hour before Kate pulled into the lot.   The old Chevy sputtered into the dusty lot, giving a low rattle as the beast came to a halt. A crisp morning air still lingering as she pulled up the back fence where she always parked.  She inhaled, looking around the lot, noticing the absence of the old red station wagon.  
  
“Huh? Errands?” she thought to herself, climbing out of the cab. Kate swished her red knee-length skirt as she made her way to the front of the house. She gave the door a careful rap. No answer. Huh. She knocked again, louder. No answer.

She tried the door, it gave easily, not even locked. She pressed her lips together. It was highly unusual for a man with a terrifying alarm system to leave his home unguarded. She entered with slight caution. She kicked the door open. There it was: a huge goddamn mess on the other side of that door.

She entered the sitting room. It looked the same. Maybe they slept late? Then she entered the living room and there it was.

Half-eaten pizza, beer bottles, liquor bottles, porn, Rambo, and popcorn littered every surface. Maybe she could convince Bobby to buy a proper slave who would take care of them. Kate bent down and picked up a half-empty can of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer and set it on the coffee table.

Kate gazed around the room, slumping her shoulders. The presence of the previous matriarch definitely lingered. She looked around at the definite theme of the living room. Burnt orange, chartreuse, dark brown and wood accents from the seventies echoed through the room in the furniture, pictures, lamps, and fixtures. These objects were put together with care long ago. The person who designed this room did not live here anymore. Probably, Karen, she thought sadly.

Karen left her mark here and her former husband had kept it lovingly in place. Kate felt as if she knew the tiny blond woman with some degree of intimacy. Her master relayed stories from time to time. As a girl and young woman, Karen had an intense affection for wildflowers, summer sunsets, the ocean (even though she had only been once or twice), Joni Mitchell, Lewis Carroll, orange and yellow, Christmas (not Easter), and most of all Bobby.

Mrs. Carver would spin stories about her family and her late husband, but the only stories Kate enjoyed hearing were those about her late daughter and son-in-law. Stories about Karen were tales of a loving and sweet daughter who tried her hardest to love the hardened woman. Stories of her childhood, familiar ones of unreasonable expectations met with severe consequences. Tales of the son-in-law entailed Karen’s fight to see him, marry him, and desperate attempts convincing her mother of his worth.

Kate chuckled at the loosely veiled attempts to keep her daughter at home. No one would have been good enough for Mrs. Carver. According to her master, Bobby was both too smart and not clever enough. She claimed the former Marine carried his head too high, needed a haircut, spoke too loud, smiled too much, and his fingernails were too well-kempt to be trusted. The old woman very vocal about his rock music and unhappy he introduced Karen to it. Oh, and she really did not care for the combat boots the man sported. It was not proper to court a woman in such shoes. The list went on and on until Kate began to like him before she even met him.

Kate ventured into the kitchen, which was not much better. Dishes were everywhere, and milk, crackers, and a few vegetables littered the counters. Kate turned a corner into Bobby’s study. She found Dean passed out on the floor, drooling on a rug. She exhaled and tapped the sleeping boy with her foot. Then she bent down and shook his shoulder.

“Dean... Dean! Dean!” she called his name, annoyed and confused.

Dean slowly opened his eyes, wiping away crust from his eyelids. He reeked of alcohol and sweat.

“Dean! This is highly irresponsible. What the hell happened here?” she scolded, waiting for answers.

“Um… We uh, we had a great night. Bobby left and we um… tried to drink the rest of the liquor in the house,” Dean explained sleepily.

“Where the hell would you get such a stupid idea? Did you remember our appointment?”

“Kate,” Dean shook his head. “Just needed to blow off some steam,” he explained, avoiding her gaze at all costs.

“You are going to need to clean this up before Sam gets up and Bobby gets back. Then we need to discuss consequences.”

“Sam was with me the whole time. It’s his mess, too! I’ll go get him,” Dean said quickly, pushing himself up, anxious to get some of this blame off his shoulders.

“Don’t you dare!” She eyed him harshly. “You get your ass in gear and pick this place up. Bobby will be home any minute, and he is not going to be happy about any of this.”

Dean scrunched his face, rubbing his eyes, “Uncle Bobby left. He had some business to take care of.”

“So you trashed his house?” she asked incredulously.

“No, we just had a rough night,” Dean explained with a slight smile.

Kate’s eyes widened, taking in what he just said, “Wait! What? He left? Where’d he go?” Her voice sounded more desperate than she wanted.  
  
“He had to take care of some things in Minneapolis, it’s not serious. He’ll be back in a week or two,” Dean’s voice trailed off. He did not know how much Bobby wanted his girlfriend to know about his problem.

“Must have been some kind of serious to leave you two in charge,” Kate said, losing her patience quickly. “Get off the floor, Dean, before I ask you to meet me upstairs.”

“Jesus, straight to that?” Dean said distressed, rapidly pulled himself off the floor to his feet.

“I should do it anyway for the amount of work I am doing today! Go to the kitchen, drink a glass of water and come back with some trash bags. You and I have a lot of work to do,” she said purposefully.

Dean picked up his pace and chugged some water with a few overly loud burps, returning to Kate. His handler had made a few piles of trash. When she saw Dean filling the bags with the piles of trash, she headed to the kitchen to find cleaning supplies.

“Seriously, shouldn’t Sam be helping?” Dean called back.

“Do not make me answer that!” Dean heard from the kitchen. Today was not going to end well for him. Dean trudged around the living room picking up trash and took a few swigs of leftover whiskey when Kate returned.

She shot daggers at him.

“What? Hair of the dog! It’s a thing, Kate,” Dean said in a voice too high for his age.

“Fine, if I see it again, we go upstairs and you better hope you do not wake up your master with your cries,” Kate warned.

“Okay, okay. Let’s just get through this without anyone getting hurt,” Dean said slowly, his hands in the air.

“Pick up your pace or I go get the crop,” Kate casually warned again as she made her way back to the kitchen.

Dean’s eyes widened, starting to clean faster.

Kate poached some eggs, made some toast, and brewed some coffee for Sam. Dean looked sadly at the food as his stomach rumbled audibly. “After you finish your chores.”

Dean grabbed the broom and dustpan with indignance. Kate arranged to food on a tray and brought it to Dean.

“Bring this up to your brother and tell him to come down stairs after he is done. I need to speak to him.”

“Come on! I did everything you told me to!”

“Dean, this is not a discussion.”

Dean took the tray and took it up the stairs slowly, trying to not to spill the coffee. Dean kicked open Sam’s door. Sam opened bleary eyes and looked at his brother with a smile.

“You brought me breakfast! Oh, my god! You are really the best! When did you learn to make toast? Poached eggs? Wait--who made this?” Sam took the tray gleefully.

“Kate made it for you, Master.” Dean said with a laugh.

“This slave crap is not all bad--Fuck, it’s eleven. Is she pissed?” he asked shoveling a piece of egg in his mouth.

“Pretty much since she got here. She said to eat and take a shower. Then you two need to talk. By the way, the living room, kitchen and study are spotless. Like cleaner than I have ever seen them.”

“Great. Wow. Okay, I’ll eat breakfast in bed and then shower. If I were not so hung over, this would be like the most perfect day ever.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean smiled as he left the room.  
  
  
  
Dean eyed the back bedroom as he walked down the hall. A shiver crawled up his spine and he winced inadvertently. “Whoever came up with the idea of the torture chamber was both a genius and an asshole,” he thought, skipping down the steps. Dean came back to the kitchen and found a plate of poached eggs, toast, and coffee. Dean plopped down to the kitchen table with a grateful sigh and began to eat. Kate walked into the kitchen with a smile.

“The living room and study look great. I am glad you have a few skills. I can teach you more. You know, typically, slaves prepare breakfast for their master every day.”

“Not so sure Sammy would be down with that. I mean I made breakfast when we were kids. Pop tarts, cereal, oatmeal, or toast, really whatever we had--if Dad left us without food. One time we had squirrel. I told Sammy it was pork. Totally gross, but he ate it. Squirrel--I have to say, not so bad, kinda gamey. When he actually had pork at a restaurant, he was like ‘What the hell is this? It’s not pork!’ to the waitress! Man, Dad was pissed. We both got it that night!”

“Taking care of someone does not always have to be about servitude, Dean. Your brother has taken on a huge burden. Maybe you could try to ease it?”

“Yeah, yeah…”

“Since we have time, go dust the lamps before Sam comes down.”

“Great idea,” Dean said as he turned heals to the living room.

“Lose the attitude.”

“10-4.”  
  
  
——  
  
  
Kate sat down and began to fill in her paperwork for the visit. She was nearly done when a very hungover Sam flopped down the stairs.

“Thanks for breakfast.”

“Not a problem. I can teach Dean how to poach eggs if you like?”

Sam huffed. “Good luck! Dean can barely make toast.”

“I heard that! Apparently, you do not remember all the fine ways I used to make mac and cheese!” Dean hollered from the other room.

“Boiling squirrel with noodles does not count!” Sam yelled back, shaking his head.

Kate felt her stomach lurch at the thought. She unsuccessfully hid a very sour expression then tried to pull the conversation away from road kill.

“Did you find anything out yesterday?” she asked hopefully.

“Yeah! Good news, actually. I called my mentor up at Stanford. He was really helpful. He said a lot of college kids take a few years off to find themselves and that picking up where I left off should not be too hard. He emailed this morning, got me a few interviews, and said they are willing to wait until the ten weeks is up.”

“You told them about me?” Dean said, walking into the room, carrying a very dusty rag.

“Hell no, I haven’t forgotten how to lie! I said I had a court date for speeding and was helping out my uncle on his farm in South Dakota.”

“Well, that sounds great! If you can finish law school in two years or at least get employed in that time, you should be set.” Kate was smiling. “We have done a fair job at cleaning the mess you two made last night, but Dean smells to high hell. Sam, take him upstairs and give him a shower. Not a full bath, but a quick soap-on, soap-off shower. Then we can go over a few chores that need your attention.”

Both looked at her with surprise.

“Upstairs! Both of you!” Kate called out, clapping her hands loudly.

“Oh, shit,” Dean said under his breath.

“I heard that!”

Dean picked up his pace, not looking back.

“Sam, can you handle this, or do I need to supervise?”

“I can do it,” he said with a nod.

“Good, I will make a chart for your chores.”  
  
  
  
Ten minutes had passed when Kate heard the sound of glass shattering.

She stomped up the stairs noisily as her boots pounded the stairs.

Sam and Dean were wrestling in the bathroom.

“Get off me! You are going to make me throw up!”

“You have to hold still!”

“Sammy, let go!”

There was another crash, which was a water glass, besides a broken ceramic sailboat.

It looked as though Sam was trying to push Dean down, and Dean was fighting to push Sam off and stay standing.

“Boys! Break it up!” Kate demanded as if talking to boys much younger than the men she stared at now.

Both let go and looked at her, shocked and wide-eyed.

“Sam, meet me in the other room,” she said plainly.

Sam went white as Dean chuckled.

“You are next,” Kate said pointing to Dean. “Wash yourself and then join us.”

\----  
  
  
Sam’s heart started to pound, knowing he was in trouble as he slowly made his way toward the room, walking oddly as he felt her presence behind him. He bit his lip and twisted his mouth.

“Sam, really? Explain what just happened to me.” A fire burned behind her blue eyes. His heart raced faster.

Sam shifted his weight. “I told him to sit down and he said he wanted to stand, so I tried to make him,” Sam explained, hoping that was a good explanation and he would be off the hook.

“When you tell a slave to do something it is expected that he obey. It should not be necessary for you so force him to do anything. You command the boy and offer a consequence if he does not comply. Sam, really? It is very unusual for me to have to teach discipline to a slave and self-discipline to a master. Your word needs to become law. If he does not do what you say, when you say it, give him a warning and then correct him. From the notes, it appears John disciplined Dean in front of you. You know what he can handle and what he can’t. You are to give him a correction, not a beating, and you will both be better for it. Now, this better be the last time I do this. Get on your knees, Sam.”

Sam furrowed his brow, perplexed, but he obeyed. Her long fingers gripped his arm firmly. He closed his eyes. She rained down twenty fast and hard swats, as his eyes watered and he jerked wildly under her grasp. Sam tried to pull away but that was difficult on his knees. She was so fast. The pain made his eyes water and took extra restraint to not rub and howl.

“Now, it is your turn. You will discipline Dean for not following instructions. This is going to be a serious punishment, the first one you will have given him. Tell him there are rules to follow, and if he does not obey them, you will have to administer the consequences. Then say you are sorry you have to do this and you expect better behavior.”

Dean entered the room, his chest puffed slightly out, cheerful and smirking.

Kate dropped her head, putting a hand to her forehead in defeat. “Sam, please give me a moment alone with Dean.”

Sam wiped his eyes covertly, exiting quickly. They heard his feet descend the staircase in fast thuds like he was escaping some wild beast.  
  
  
  
“What is this?” she asked, eyes narrow and demanding an answer.

Dean feigned confusion. “What’d you mean?” His voice was too cool for the situation.

Kate puffed out her chest and in a deep mocking voice said, “ _Oh, what do I mean?_ I mean this bullshit you are putting your brother through. This is going to be hard enough for him without you fighting for control. Control you and I lost a long time ago. Now it’s just time to hand over the reins. Why? Why are you so angry?”

Dean looked around the room, incredulously, “What? I’m not! I know what the score is. Am I supposed to like being beaten by my little brother?”

“Dean, no one put you here but you. You and your brother went crazy for three years. You are paying your dues for bad behavior.”

“Kate, I died and went to Hell, literal, actual _Hell_. My father died. Yeah, it’s been a crazy couple of years.”

“Good,” she said plainly, understanding, with what she heard yesterday and the evidence of the literature around the house, he probably told the truth.

“What?” he asked taken back, not expecting that.

“Then a little discipline from Sam should not hurt you at all… compared to say Hell? Because you and I are here right now,” she said, giving the floor a sharp stomp.

“This… this is hell. The one thing that keeps me going, is being taken away. There is no more training, hunting, hustling, and having just a damn good time with my brother.”

“Why would you say that?” she asked more concerned, sensing too much defeat in his voice.

“Because he is going back to school! He is going to make new friends while I rot up here with Bobby. Bobby’s going clean. Everything is changing.”

“Dean, you can change too,” she said gently.

“You said it: our fate was sealed a long time ago. It’s going to hurt. It is going to hurt so much to lose him. I would do anything, _anything_ for this not to happen.”

Kate took his head in her hands gently and looked him in the eyes. “He is never going to leave you, Dean. He loves you too much. It’s going to be alright.”

Dean started to choke on his tears. Kate leaned over to hug him and as she did, Dean looked at her with sad eyes, pulled her head with his hands kissing her, deeply.

Kate recoiled her body back, slapping him hard across the face.

“Jesus!” he cried out, grabbing his cheek. Man, that girl had a swing!

A raised red handprint graced Dean’s perfect face.

She looked back at him with obvious disgust. “I…I can’t right now. I just can’t!” she spit.

She left him speechless.

Kate snatched her notebook and headed downstairs. Her feet felt like they flew beneath her. She hopped steps so fast.

She found Sam and said, “Samuel Winchester. I will come back tomorrow if I do not feel like beating that boy back to Hell.” Her blue eyes spilled with rage, her small body shaking visibly.

The next thing Sam heard was the front door slam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I like to answer comments after I have posted a new chapter. Find it keeps me going :)


	15. Sticks and Stones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Special Thank you to my talented, inspiring coconspirator, SonicoSenpai!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Discipline Warnings Apply!
> 
> I expect this chapter to be triggery. If you have triggers? Tread carefully. It's intense. 
> 
> If you don't like this... Skip this one. Summary at the End.

  
  
_Kate stomped over to her truck. For the first time, she had a hard time getting into the cab. She pulled too hard on the ancient handle. Eventually, the vehicle bent to her will and she opened the door, threw herself in and slammed it shut. She gazed around at the lot. The magic slowly vanished the closer she looked. The reality of the decay, rust, and filth became glaringly apparent. Doubts about Bobby himself filled her racing mind. Was he really as bad they said? Was Mrs. Carver right? Was he really a no-good, arrogant, shitass who gave no thought to anyone but himself? She did not know. She just knew she had to get out of there. Fast._  
  
  
Her hands fumbled with the key, then turned the engine too hard. Looking around, she floored the accelerator. It was about when the old truck began to rattle that she took her foot off the gas, pulling over to the side of the country road.  
  
Feeling the rage quake her small body, she pulled over. Then she laid her head on the steering wheel and cried. Why the hell did he leave? More importantly, why did he not call? Did she really mean nothing to him? She pulled out slowly and calmly drove home.

* * *

 

Kate parked her truck down the street in front of the gas station, like she always did. She walked the block to her mistress’s house. She pulled her head high, trying to balance her pride and despair. She walked up the clean white concrete path to the grey house, a walk she swept daily. She did not pause to look up. Her path clear as she opened the storm dorm, leaving her left hand to be smacked by the heavy door as it slammed shut.

“FUCK!” she cried out, deliberately, knowing exactly what would happen next.

* * *

 

Eileen Carver was a stout woman in her early seventies. If you did not know her, you might call her handsome. She had a harsh rectangular face, wideset eyes, and pointed chin. A solid face. A face free of worry lines, small piercing blue eyes that could scare the living bejesus out of a child or small animal. Her hair fell short and carefully styled, beautifully colored to hide her grey. 

She married young and lost both her husband and her daughter before their time. From her scent, the master had just returned from the beauty shop. Walter’s bank pension and benefits kept her and her little slave modestly comfortable. Kate’s income added a little padding to her bank account. She enjoyed travel and had a few friends willing to take Kate when she boarded her cruise ships or vacationed in Europe.

Kate feared those times the most. Some of Eileen’s friends were kind, others worked her like a dog, and others liked to play. Kate shuttered when brochures would show up. There was one on counter now: a three-week tour of the castles in Scotland. Kate’s mind went blank trying to remember where Mrs. Johnson was on the rotation. Shit.

Kate was pulled back to the present as her master stared her down. Her old hands were shaking and her lips pulling in and out of a snarl as she chose her words. A chill chased down Kate’s back, settling deep, pulling her eyes open wider.

“How many times, Katherine? How _many_ times do I need to remind you to mind your tongue?”

Kate shrunk.

She approached the girl, wild-eyed and angry.

She pulled back a hand struck the girl straight across the face.

Kate recoiled, cowering. The smack took her off guard and she looked at her master. Her eyes watering as she cradled her face, wide-eyed with new fear taking the place of her melancholy. Maybe this had been a terrible idea.

“You _answer_ me, girl,” the woman cawed.

“I am sorry, master,” Kate whispered, bowing her head, already sniffling.

“Oh, you are _going_ to be sorry little lady…” the old woman hissed, her back hunching slightly. “Go get me the cane, girl. Meet me in your room.”

* * *

_Your room_. Even when she was going to get it, Kate always rolled her eyes when she heard that. You mean the room where my closet is? Kate wanted dearly to correct her but always held her tongue.

The room in question had belonged to Karen long ago. The white lace quilt still donned the high arched mahogany canopy bed. Small framed pictures of single pink flowers peppered the white walls. Soft cream rugs covered the cold hardwood floors. A beautiful matching dressing table with flowers carved beautifully into the wood stood regally in the corner of the room. A small brass stool with a white tufted cushion neatly parked under the dressing table. White lace curtains hung on tall windows that overlooked the carefully manicured backyard. It was a little girl’s dream room. Karen’s massive dollhouse still stood tall on the far corner of the room next to a lovely green upholstered chair, dainty and wide, complete with a tiny matching footstool. Perfect for reading novels and love letters.

Kate liked to imagine Karen’s life. She found a few of her diaries hidden under one of the floorboards. The sugary sweet details of her courtship with Bobby and the pain of dealing with her parents, hidden deep in the scrawled in the pink book with crisp white pages and gold lines, meant for no one else’s eyes. Kate read the stories over and over. Though she had no idea who Bobby was when she met him, the young slave was surprised to find that the gallant man she read about had become the object of the town's gossip and ridicule. Though she figured she’d never find him, she had probably been looking for him for years.

That forced her heart to sink more. Not good enough. Not good enough to even break up with. She was no Karen. Kate knew that. Karen went to college. Karen made it through her childhood without being sold. Kate would stare at that photo in the parlor. Karen’s soft features and kind eyes used to be a comfort to Kate, like she had a spirit friend, who knew exactly how she felt and maybe even understood her. Karen seemed far more distant to her now.

Kate unhooked her skirt, stepping out of it, then folding it and putting it away neatly in her closet. She hooked her thumbs and shimmied out of her cotton panties. She eyed the brass lock on the closet door bolted to the outside of the door. The dark closet where little light came in and none came out. Her bedroll neatly rolled up in the corner. Her clothes and shoes tidy.

She paused to listen as her heart began to pound loudly in her ears.

Mrs. Carver stomped her high heels toward Kate’s room. The slave listened as the hard clang of the heels grew louder as the master made her approach. Kate placed her hands on the soft bedspread, bracing herself, breathing through her fear, shaking slightly.

As the old woman entered the room, she scowled and twisted her face in disappointment.

“I have to know, Kate. Do you _like_ being punished, girl? Because I can make this _worse_ ,” her master grabbed the cane on the bed and cracked a hard lash across her thigh, catching her off guard as she let out a small cry.

“Keep quiet, girl. You _know_ what happens when you don’t...”

CRACK

Kate’s breath hitched. The blow caught her upper thigh, raising a welt quickly. It would probably bleed. Kate turned her head, her legs quivering as she held her breath.

“I _do not_ like that talk in my house!”

CRACK

The slave’s body winced and jerked at the coming blows.

“You _know_ the rules!”

CRACK

“I am going teach you to mind that deviled tongue of yours, girl.”

CRACK

She watched the even slats of the floor as thick wet tears fell hard, beginning to collect. The soft plush rug was kicked away for her punishment. Her feet stayed in place better. Her legs began to quake.

CRACK

The cane bit her across the width of her ass. Her legs shifted. _Breathe, Kate, just breathe through it_ , she told herself kindly. Like she would her charges, but the sad voice in her head began to sing a sadder song, reminding her of her worth.

CRACK

 _He could never love you_. The voice called out vicious and low.

CRAC _K_

_Not someone like you. He sees you as the world sees you._

CRACK

_Nothing. Nothing but dirty slave trash. Rejected slave trash._

CRACK

 _Good for nothing but a good time. That’s what you’ll be someday. But you didn’t open those pretty legs wide enough and he left._ She let out a soft whine, her shoulder hunched low, the arch in her back obvious and deep.

CRACK

The pain amassed to mountains, building on itself through her humiliation. The master was seasoned and practiced in delivering pain. She knew how to work the cane so even it bent to her will. The old woman laid even lines up and down her ass and thighs. Going over her plump little bottom twice for good measure. Silent tears streamed down her face. She bit down into her lip to prevent a cry.

CRACK, CRACK, CRACK…

Until Kate could not or did not want to count anymore.

Huddled in her closet, Kate let out the softest, lowest whines she could, her misery and pain audible to no one but ghosts of the house.

* * *

  
Sam watched Dean stumbled down the stairs.  Sam scratched his head, confused, holding too many forms and schedules.

“What the fuck was that?” Sam asked, now very aware of a very red handprint across his brother’s face.

“I kissed her,” Dean said plainly.

“You fucking did WHAT? Bobby’s girl? The first good thing to happen to the man since he killed his wife with a kitchen knife? That Bobby? Our Uncle Bobby? You kissed that girl? Good for her! I am glad she clocked you!” Sam looked at his brother for answers. _This was not happening._

“I know. I know, I deserve it. Sammy, please just beat me for it.”

Sam looked back with a snarl. “You are spewing some sick shit! I am not going to do that. I am going to beat you for not following my instructions. But Bobby. Bobby is going to beat you for that. _Ohhhh, you_have_made_that_girl_virtually_unnecessary!_ Get upstairs. Get undressed and wait for me in the other room. Dean, move!”

Dean felt fear jolt through his body and he went white. He blinked back tears and climbed the stairs.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SUMMARY  
> Kate assumes Bobby has left and not told her because he did not care enough to call. 
> 
> Kate gets herself in trouble to combat the heartache. 
> 
> We meet Eileen Carver. She delivers a very harsh punishment for cursing.
> 
> Sam confronts Dean about Kate. 
> 
> For those that read the chapter... IF you want me to write a Chapter about Sam and Dean's punishment... Drop me a line on the email or comment. Didn't write it... but can totally write it. 
> 
> With Kate getting it, didn't know if it would be too depressing.


	16. Like Father, Like Son

  
  
  
  
  
  
9 AM Sioux Falls, SD

_Kate arrived dressed in black with dark circles under eyes her sparse makeup could not come close to covering. This time, she very obviously hobbled out of the truck and into the house. She found Sam sitting in the living room with a maroon cup of coffee, staring keenly into his computer screen._

Sam stretched his long legs as he looked her over with some concern. “Are you okay, Kate?” Sam asked as he watched her sporting a limp.

“I’ve been better. How are you boys?” she asked with a sad smile.

“Dean has been cleaning all morning. And I did what you asked me to.” Sam appeared a bit too smug.

Kate probed. “What was that?” she asked slowly.

“I took a belt to him,” Sam said obviously pleased with himself, standing up to stretch his arms. He looked to be enjoying the jolt of power as he pulled his shoulders. Kate’s heart sank.

Kate shut her pair of tired eyes. “Oh, Sam. Sam. Sit down, boy. Did you punish him for kissing me?”

“No, but that made it so much easier,” Sam chuckled a little.

“That is the wrong kind of working, Sam. That is not an appropriate punishment boy.... Thankfully, you will not be able to hold on to that anger. You will forgive him and then you will be right back where you started. Except, now, you’ll feel guilty you hit him at all. Oh, this is a mess! Let me go talk to your brother.”

Sam stood back up and glared at her, fiercely, unconsciously pointing a finger at her. “You were the one sent here to make me keep him in line. Well, there is the fucking line.”

“Sam, he did not break any rules. Boy, you have not even made any.”

Sam started to pace the room, throwing his hands in the air. “He didn’t listen to me,” Sam said defensively. “I decided to tack on being a dick.”

“Has Dean ever beat you for being a dick? Think hard,” Kate said softly, trying to calm him.

Sam thought. “He… Well, one time… No…” Sam exhaled.

“I want you to think about this. Consequences need to be expected. Authority needs to be established. You have gotten him to listen and obey you, but at what cost?” She left him to ruminate.  
  
  
  
Kate walked in to the kitchen, where Dean looked to be washing every pot in the house.

“Hey, Kate!” Dean said boisterously. “Aren’t you proud of me? I earned my stripes last night. Yeah, my baby brother stripped me down and gave it to me real good. Even made me stand in the corner to think about it. Like father like son, eh?” Dean said, a little too proud.

“You made him do this, didn’t you?” Kate asked, putting a hand to her mouth with a moment of sudden realization.

“Hell yeah, one of the only job perks, Katy. Looks like you did the same last night. Why don’t you tell me why you did it? She got you good, didn’t she?” Dean asked with a nasty smirk. “All the way up and down those pretty legs of yours. I could tell by the way you’re walking. I have done that dance before… I know why I did it. How about you?” Dean’s eyes narrowing.

“I’m not proud of it,” Kate paused, then tensed up. “But you let _Bobby Singer_ know that I am _not_ a five dollar steak to be pushed around his house. He’s lost interest? That’s fine. He should not have passed me off to you.” Her face was distorted by anger.

“What the hell are you talking about? He didn’t give you to me!” Dean said surprised and slightly offended.

“Then, why’d you do it?” she asked dropping her posture in defeat.

“I don’t know, I just want to feel anything but the way I am feeling,” shame painted loosely in his eyes.

“Dean?” she asked frankly.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t do it again, or then the next time it won’t be your face I hit.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

Kate offered her arms and Dean accepted her hug, warm and forgiving.

“You keep this up in the kitchen, Sam and I are going to take a walk.”

\----

“Sam, follow me,” she commanded in more control.

“Where are we going?” he asked suspicious, not wanting a repeat of the lesson from the previous day.

“Around the yard, I need to talk to you,” she said as she opened the kitchen door to the outside.

After they had gotten out the door, Kate started talking.

“Your brother is going to need to do something he loves. He loves hunting, fighting, and partying. Given your situation? That is over. We are still in week one but we still need to go over going out in public, formal situations, problems with the law, romantic situations, the list goes on. You and Dean are not doing well. You still have not been able to correct him on your own—”

“That’s not fair,” Sam said bluntly.

“Last night does not count. You felt he deserved that. You were angry. That is not how to treat your slave. You should correct him, not beat him. Today, you need to give him a bath on your own. And for God’s sake, remember to be careful around the marks.”

“I can’t do that! Why should I have to do that?”

“Because you are going to have to start to take control. You are a grown man and he is not your big brother anymore. Now, he is your responsibility. Your father tamed that boy, now you have to take over. He needs to accept that.”

Sam nodded, pulling at his hair. “This was easier when it was me and Dean verses the monsters.”

Kate nodded and started to lead them back toward the house.

  
  
  
Dean finished with the kitchen. It was spotless.

“I had no idea you were so domestic, Dean,” Sam said in obvious awe.

“You never asked before, Sir,” Dean said blankly.

Sam noticed the game. “Seriously?”

“Is there something else you needed, Sir?” Dean asked more formally.

“What is this?” Sam’s eyes narrowed.

“You want to beat me like Dad, I will treat you like Dad. You need anything else, Sam? You want me come by your room tonight? You want a special goodnight kiss?  I'm real good at it, Master," Dean said with a wicked wink.  

Sam wretched, grabbing his stomach and gagging. Then he growled, “Stop being such an ass!”

Dean pulled up his head and looked at him, his head too high. “Decide what you want and then talk to me.”  
  
  
\----

  
Kate took Dean by the hand and led him out of the house.  
  
  
Kate leaned up against the side of the house, not caring she’d be filthy afterwards, she was just so tired.

“Dean, you want to explain that?”

“Explain what? He took a belt and beat me last night. I have no right to be pissed?”

“You cannot tell him that you want him to be your master, to make effort to take care of you, and then tell him that he is too much like his father. Poor kid never asked for any of this. Your life is not the only one that is being upended.”

“I know, this is so hard.”

“Really, it’s not. Do what you are told and don’t be an ass. Go in there and apologize. Tell him you are ready to work at this. Remember to follow the rules. Because, really, Dean? Neither one of us needs a beating today.”

Dean looked at the floor for a long time. Then he nodded his head.

As soon as Dean, entered the room, Sam jumped up, anxious to get out what was burning inside.

“Look, Dean! I am doing my best here and all you do is fuck with me. I did not want a slave. I did not go to some damn block and buy a human being. I am doing this shit to keep you out of that life. If that means we give up hunting and get real jobs, like everyone else, I will do it. For you. I will do it. If I have to beat the hell out of you in order for you not live in chains, guess what? I’ll do that, too. You have always had the upper hand, Dean. You were always older, stronger, faster, better at everything, and now you have to give me the upper hand for two years. Two and a half years, Dean. Then we can fuck this whole system, but for two and a half years? You better do what the fuck I say, when I say it. If not? Yes, I will beat you like Dad did. So don’t fuck up and don’t be a fucking asshole. Get upstairs. I am going to give you a damn bath so Kate will stop asking me to do it. Now, Dean,” Sam commanded.

Dean nodded, as he went up the staircase, head down. He could not help but smile. Sammy was growing up. He was actually kind a proud of him for that speech. Kid had grown some balls. Dean shook his head and headed into the bathroom.  
  
  
Sam gave Dean a bath. Sam took off his clothes, scrubbed him, buffed him, washed him and rinsed him, all without slight hesitation or embarrassment. He was firm and professional.

  
Kate made them a late lunch. “See you tomorrow. Work on cleaning the bathrooms and living rooms today. I am going to check. No dust anywhere. I have white gloves I am not afraid to put on, so do a good job. Ciao.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because this one might have been too brutal I skipped the description. I will. *Promises will have a discipline session with after care and the like. Soon. 
> 
>  
> 
> Hope you enjoyed. SPECIALEST THANKS TO SONICOSENPAI and her genius.


	17. Slave Manuals Do Not Make the Greatest Parenting Manuals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this has been dark. This chapter is fucking terrible. Like I cannot believe I wrote it. But it was oddly therapeutic. Don't judge. But if you are not ready for a good freak out... read the summary at the bottom... You have been duly warned.
> 
> Specialest Thanks to SoncioSenpai! Makes more sense now. I had a hard time editing as I did not want to reread it.

  
  
  
_John Winchester crept into the house, his boys asleep, he moved carefully. Avoiding the stairs that creaked, he slipped into his room and looked longingly at his bed. Salt and burn after a long fucking day. He reached into his nightstand to pull out a bottle of black label Evan Williams, but stopped. There in brown paper pieced together carefully with tape and tied up securely with string from his toolbox.  The package addressed to him._

_John gripped the thing tight. One of those boys was going to pay with a sound spanking for opening his mail… probably Dean. He thought this to himself as he absently tore at the paper._

_There. In his hands. As bad as any cursed object, the thing would tear at the fabric that held his loosely tied family together. It was a regal burgundy book with ornate and curly gold lettering, thin fine pages…_

 

 

Dean and Sam got along much better after the bath. Something flipped in their dynamic. Dean just respected Sam more. The fact that the belting still stung like hell might have help a little.  More likely, Sam looked and was becoming more and more like John. Strong. Domineering. In control. Dean did not have worry about little Sammy anymore. Did not have to worry about much. Everything from here on out was not his decision anymore. It was a warm soft fuzzy blanket feeling. A familiar feeling. A hollow feeling. But a familiar one…

 

After Sam made dinner and Dean cleaned up the dishes without prompting, Sam asked Dean to join to him in the sitting room. The house was quiet and still. The room so clean and tidy, it felt both comfortable and formal.

“Dean. We need to talk,” Sam said pointedly. 

Dean scoffed, looking at Sam with raised eyebrows.

“You interested bro? Not sure how I feel about that… Maybe we should just start holding hands and having a few long walks… You know?  Do it right,” Dean gave Sam his most charming smile.

“You asshole,” Sam laughed rubbing his neck. Then he paused, looked straight at his brother. “Really what the hell was that Dean? What the fuck did Dad do to you?”

Dean went a little white.

“Why do you want to know?” Shaking his head, quickly, bouncing back, taking the offensive, anything to get out of this conversation.

“Dean… _Goodnight kiss_? What the fuck? What the fuck happened? Why did you never tell me? You know everything about me, man. Down to… just _everything._ I feel like I don’t really know you… And I want to…”

“You want me to relive that shit so you can feel better? No. Fuck you. No.” That was a jab and Dean knew it. Fuck it, this was not happening now.  Dean's shoulders and everything else tensed. 

“Dean. Just tell me. At least tell when it started and why.”

“Huh. Fine. Dad was a sick fuck. That what you want to know? He was sick.”

“When Dean? When? How did all this happen?”

“Dude. You were a little kid. After you went to sleep… I mean sometimes we would train, sometimes he’d train me…” Dean got a far off look in his eye. Distant and sad.

“Train you?” Sam asked slowly.

“Jesus. Fine. He called it ‘night training,’ I don’t know. He said if he didn’t do that shit, they’d take me away. They’d sell me off to a brothel or worse. I mean they did make sure I knew shit at the inspections. I’m a pleasure slave, Sam. Or was until Dad could change it to Mechanic. They would have sent me off to some damn slave farm. I don’t know…” Now Dean bit at his nails.

“Back the fuck up. Night training? Dad?”

“I mean, yeah. It’s what I said wasn’t it? Get over it. I did,” Dean said curtly.

“That’s not something you get fucking over Dean…,” Sam said loosing breath, “What did that sonofabitch do to you?”

“Sam it wasn’t that bad. I mean, it’s not like we were related.”

“What. Did. He. Do?”

“ _Training_ Sam. Same as hunting. _Training_. I had to get use to being handled… like that. I had to get use to… stuff… Sammy,” Dean now sounded about ten years old.

“What did he do to you?” Sam asked now more insistent.

“He taught me how to pleasure a man. I learned lots of shit about women, which I used. A lot. Thank you Dad,” Dean pulled a hesitant smile.

“What did he do to you, Dean?”

“He just touched me. Got me use to things…” Dean stopped, suddenly becoming more animated and smiling, “Dude. I can suck a dick, Sam. Seriously.  Aces. I am good. Some of the other hunters said so. Am like the best.  Made some _cash_ money...,” Dean said looking to Sam for approval, seeing his brother’s face grief stricken, he looked down.

“Let’s just go to bed Sam. Come on. I don’t want to do this,” Dean pleaded. Last-ditch effort.

“HE WHORED YOU OUT?” Sam said both hands on his knees. If there was someone to punch, they’d be on their ass by now.

Dean smiled, almost chuckling. “Maybe I liked it.”

Sam looked to Dean, then slumped his shoulders, hands now pulling desperately at his overly long hair. Tears welling those big green eyes as they turned brighter and redder as he looked up to Dean. Tears threatening to fall fast.

Dean looked him over critically. “You are such a _bitch_! Do we have to have this fucking chick-flick moment? Man up, pussy. I’m okay with it,” Dean said defensively, straightening up.

“Come here,” Sam held out his arms.

Dean looked him up and down, shaking his head firmly.

“ _Come Here_.” Sam’s arm stretched wide still seated. Dean would have to join him on the couch.

Sam closed his eyes as tears fell fast. Didn’t care about being about being strong for his big brother any longer. Dean. Jesus. Dean. Then he put a hand to his full lips. Shit. He did feel bad he gave Dean that beating. He beat an abused dog. Beat someone who carried so much pain.

“Come. _Here_. Do not make me play the master card. Please Dean…” Sam asked again, opening and shutting one of his hands.

Dean shifted from one foot to the other like a small boy. Unsure what to do.

“Now,” Sam said firmly. That was a command. Hell, Dean understood commands. He walked in and let his brother hold him. He let Sam be the bigger man, curling into him like a bitch. Tears that had waited for so long fell with abandon. His body quaked with sad wailing sobs as Sam rubbed his back gently, laying a cheek on his brother’s hair.

 

After Dean finally fell asleep that night, the dreams returned. Sad horrible dreams. It all started the day that package showed up. Dean was nine. Third grade. A package waited patiently on the doorstep as Dean and Sam came home from school. Dean still remembered the day. It was cool, autumn. The leaves crunched under Sammy’s feet as he stomped them all the way home, skipping happily, telling Dean all about his day of Kindergarten.

Dean remembered because he order two decoder rings. One for him and one for Sammy. The back of the comic said it would take six to eight weeks. They were still on week five but didn’t matter. Dean was still hopeful.

Beautiful brown paper wrapped the package, twine tied around it. _Johnathon Winchester_ written in formal lettering. But Dean didn’t see that. He saw a box and he saw _**Winchester**_.

“Holy crap, Sammy! It’s here!” Dean shouted as he stumbled over the cracked sidewalk of their humble street. He tore up the shabby stairs of the run down house Dad rented. He tore into the wrapping, like it was Christmas morning, gnawing the knot in the string loose with his teeth. This was going to be so much fun.

Inside the box was not a decoder ring or any other toy. It was a book. Beautiful and burgundy. Fancy gold curly lettering spelled out words that burnt into his young mind, ‘Pleasure Training for Your Young Slave.’

Dean shook his head, dropping the book. Sammy looked over his shoulder, trying to sound out the words of the book on the floor.

Dean flipped the book over quickly. “It’s Dad’s Sammy. Not for kids. I’m gonna put it in his room…” Dean grabbed the paper, sniffling, trying his best to keep it together, wiping tears and choking.

  
  
  
He tearfully looked up the ceiling. Really? Really?

Dad had explained it. He had. It just didn’t hit him until then.  Must have been a year before.  

He remembered how John had told him. “You’re mine but you’re not boy. Dean, I sold my soul that night your momma raised that paddle. Sold it, Dean.”

John looked down at the floor in disgust.

“We have options, Dean.  All this won't start until your older anyway.  Like sixteen?  If you want, you can just go to the workhouses.  I will understand. I just can’t protect you, son. And you wouldn’t see Sammy for years… They’ll take you and turn you into a good little worker,” John gulped, then choked a little. “I can’t. I can’t see you there, Dean. This is better. It’s awful. Dean it’s awful…” Tears started to fall from the old marine’s eyes. The first time Dean ever saw his Dad cry. And now? He just sobbed.

“Boy? I wish I had never allowed your momma to take you home…”

Dean had long gotten use to diffusing situations. Came naturally now. Didn’t even think about it anymore. Make _him_ feel better, called out in his young brain.

“I want to stay with you. I have to stay with you Dad…” Dean said, trying desperately to reassure him.

“Boy, when we’re alone, I can’t be your dad. I can’t. What they want you know how to do… Dean… Are you sure? It might hurt, Dean. It might rip at your soul. It’ll make you grow up too fast… If you want to learn to clean houses… if you want to learn to work in a factory. Hell, you could be an overseer… We’d be here when you got back…”

Dean shook his head, now looking at the same spot on the floor his Dad had been examining. “I can’t Dad. Who’d watch Sammy? Who’d keep him safe, Dad? You can’t. Dad I love you but you can’t, you just can’t stand to stay too long with either of us. I understand, Dad. I miss her too. So much. So much it hurts. I want to stay with you and Sammy. Even if I’m just a slave. I’m Sammy’s big brother. I can handle it, Dad. Don’t worry. I can handle it,” Dean pressed a smile through his own tears.

“I am going to work, Dean. I am going to fix this. I am going to fix it any way I can…” John promised.  A defeated desperate promise.  But a promise he would keep.  Just not soon enough...  
  


That was seven years ago. Dean noticed that John’s hand got heavier after that first inspection. His father gave him more responsibility. Strict and harsh consequences followed quickly for slacking off, screwing up, and not trying hard enough.

Jeez, Dean was sixteen and a half. He knew. A year and a half. A year and a half and he’d have to talk about, maybe even demonstrate what he knew. He flipped through the thin pages, gold line pages. Like printing the thing like the fucking bible made any of this right. Then his eyes popped open. It was too much. He slammed it shut and left it on John’s nightstand.

After that day, “night training” began. A first John just touched him. Mostly from behind. It made it easier for both of them. Not to have to look each other in the eyes, see the face that raised him, see the son that he had held in his big arms as a baby.

Since the day the book arrived, Dean watched the steady and complete decay of his father. John drank. He drank so much sometimes it was hard to protect Sammy from it. His hand would fly, one of them would be on the floor or slammed up against a wall. The man had no patience and unreasonable expectations. Don’t fuck up, listen the first time and do not, _whatever you do_ , piss off Dad.

Dean walked on pins and needles during the day and cried himself to sleep at night. The only time Dean really felt normal was at school or when John was on a hunt.

But really that didn’t happen much. John took Dean on most of his hunts. Left Sammy with a bunch of weapons and a whole lot more threats. The threat of a blistered or firmly paddled bottom kept Sammy locking the door and watching his step.

During the hunts, John introduced Dean to the other hunters. A few were more than willing to be participants in Dean’s training, even threw in some extra cash if Dean did a decent job.  
  
  
  
  
  
None of that could compare to that first night.  Dean fought sleep, dreaming of that night in Arizona. The first time. The first in a long line of horrible and degrading events. Sure, Dad explained, after he was eighteen and went through inspection? It was all over. John could call Dean a mechanic. Two and a half years.

 

That night. John was so drunk. He read stoically from the book and told Dean to take off his clothes. _Like you want to… Like your with a girl, boy_.

Dean pulled on his poker face. The face that let him win at cards, fool the local cops, seduce the pretty girls in his class, and the face he put on when he had to hide something from his little brother.

He narrowed his eyes, looking Dad in the face like someone desperate for a good fuck. He pulled off he pulled off his shirt, flexing and looking himself over. Dean slid his jeans and boxers off with hooked thumbs and sly smile.

“ _Touch yourself, Dean. Like you want it, boy_.” John said hesitantly. Looking deep into the pages.

Dean began to stroke himself, he was hard and firm in no time. Just a good fucking liar. Through and through… he thought to himself.  


“ _Now come over here. Sit beside me. I have to close my eyes Dean…_ ” John said almost apologetically. It was the first time in months Dad had said anything kind to him. As his father screwed his eyes shut tight, Dean couldn’t help but smile.

“ _Now. Use your hands like the book said Dean…_ ,” John said softly. Like he was talking to someone else. John shimmed out of his dirty jeans, wore almost threadbare. He pulled his cock through his blue plaid boxers, the ones Dean washed and put away every week.

Dean grabbed the cock and did like the book said. He wrapped his thick fingers around it with one hand and stroked gently with the other. After about five minutes, John started to moan. He fell slightly back on the bed, bracing himself with both hands, arching his back. His strong arms began to shake. Quiver and shake.

“ _Now. Now, Dean. Take it in your mouth…_ ” John whispered. Tears falling as he moaned again.

Dean’s full lips licked and sucked. Licked and sucked. Teased and licked. Until the father, he tried so hard please, groaned in appreciation. John’s legs shook and his body shuttered.

John gulped. He had to get through this. All at once. There was not enough alcohol to make him go through this again.

“ _Stop, boy. Work yourself in time with me. Try and come, Dean. Come for me, boy…_ ” John said softly, sniffing a little, calming himself through the waves of pleasure.

Dean inhaled. Grabbed himself and tried to go somewhere else. Anywhere else. He wrapped those sculpted lips around his master’s cock and worked them both into a frenzy.

As Dean start to pant through his mouth, John pulled up, wrapping strong fingers through the boy’s hair, violently controlling the motion of Dean’s head and mouth.

Dean cried a little as his teeth scrapped his lips, he tasted a little blood, but tried to keep focus. He thought of the way Amanda Parker’s tight little ass looked in those tight little jeans, how her sweater hugged those perfect tits, how sweetly she smiled when he talked to her, how those big brown eyes looked so very proud as she introduced him around, and how those lips looked as she giggled taking her first sip of beer.

Dean groaned as tried to ignore his father. Then his mind flew, unconsciously, to the groan of approval from his Dad. That deep guttural groan sent him over the edge as he spilled cum into his hands.

John bucked his hips violently until he met a release with a muffled howl as he pushed his arm into his mouth. John let himself fall back into the bed, closing his eyes in a deep drunk slumber.

Dean looked his father over. His heart sank. His sorrow so deep. Once Dean noticed the old man twitch in his deep sleep, Dean got up, spit the cum on the floor and shook off his own. He forced a smile, bent down and kissed the man on the forehead.

Now he just hoped with all he had that Sammy was asleep…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary:
> 
> John receives a slave manual. 
> 
> Sexual training should start at sixteen. Damn the summary is evil too.. 
> 
> Be warned. You asked for this. 
> 
>    
> Dean and Sam talk it out. Dean tells Sam their father put him through night training. To get him used to being touched and how to please a man. 
> 
> What happened the night Dean's nightmares began about is explained. It's terrible. Says me.
> 
> I


	18. Under the Boardwalk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought we needed some fluff. So fluffy...

  
  
  
  
  
9AM Sioux Falls, SD

 

Kate arrived on time, shuffling through the door with a stack of paperwork. Her heart sank a little each time she entered his house. Man, it was going to be hard to do this job after he came back. _It’s fine_ , Kate…she told herself. Enjoy the quiet now…

Thankfully, her work with the boys was coming along. Sam and Dean were already waiting for her in the living room.

“We have had our first week together. Fortunately, I am seeing some progress. We will fill out this packet and send it in. Sam. Lots of work ahead of us…”she said talking into her papers.

“Anything for me to do?” asked Dean.

“A few pages at the end. Now it’s time for me and Sam to discuss progress.”

“Doesn’t this involve me?” Dean asked, a little sad.

“You have passed these exams before. The notes on the file focus on Sam’s ability to keep you out of trouble. The years you spent on the road with Sam were some of the most violent and turbulent years of your life. We need you to stay out of trouble so this is not an issue.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Dean went outside to work on the Caddy and drink.

 

"Alright, Sam. Looks like we have a lot of work to do. I need you to decide what you want out of a slave and how Dean can fulfill those needs.”

Sam looked at her queerly. He started very slowly and sarcastically. “I want my brother to be my brother. I am a big boy, Kate. I can look after myself…”

Kate shifted her jaw in irritation. She replied equally sarcastically, but much more sweetly, with a slight and unintentional twang. “Sam, I understand that. But that did not work, did it? That boy needs structure. He needs to know what you expect from him. You are going to have to praise him for doing good work far more than you should punish him. With Dean? You have your work cut out for you. He really is very disobedient and obstinate.”

Sam shifted in his seat. _Disobedient._ The last time anyone had ever called either of them disobedient was Dad. Sam’s stomach fell. He started to dry heave.

Kate stood up to help. He shooed her away. She returned to her seat promptly, tensed, nerves on high alert.

“Are you okay, boy?” she asked concerned.

Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Fine. Fine. Let’s give him something to do. Just make it easy at first. Last night was hell on him.”

“He told you about what happened with him and his father, didn’t he?” she asked blankly.

“How’d you know?” Sam asked, truly taken aback.

“I figured it would come up. I told you, I read the testimony. I am sorry, Sam. I am so very sorry Dean and so many others had to go through that. But Sam, they don’t anymore.”

“Like I give a shit! That fucking bastard lied to me, beat me, and fucking molested my brother my entire life! He should be rotting in hell. I should be finding a way to throw him back into the pit…” Sam said as his lips curled.

“You can’t change the past. You and Dean are not here because of anything that happened in the past. You are here because you and Dean need real help to keep him out of anything worse. Sam, it could be so much worse, boy.”

Sam took a broken breath, shaking his head.

“Where we are now is more important than where we _were_. We only have control over the present. All we can do with past is learn from it. Pain can be a valuable teacher…”

“Do you hear yourself? Seriously. Do you listen to yourself? Pain is _pain_. Pain’s only function is to keep us away from the thing that causes us pain. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I know you are upset, so I am going to let that slide… You tell me. How are you going to keep him from drinking, Sam? How are you going to keep him out of trouble? He is a grown ass man, Sam. How are you going to do it?”

Sam’s eyes started to water. He broke down. Were Dean there, he’d tell Sam to stop his bitch crying. Ugly and sad. Snotty and miserable.

Kate comforted Sam, telling him this was all still very new and they had plenty of time to get the two of them where they needed to be.

“Dean, you need to come back inside,” Kate hollered from the back door.

 

It took Dean 15 minutes to mosey back into the living room.

“Christ on a bike! How did you get drunk so fast? Coincidentally, we have been talking about keeping you out of trouble and here you go, _plunging right back into it._ What are your thoughts, Dean?”

Dean looked around the room. “Totally not drunk! Really not that drunk.”

She called Dean up to the backroom. She laid three whacks with a cane as Sam watched, tears accumulating fast. Kate left the room quickly, attempting to give them time together.

Sam tried to give his brother a hug but Dean called him a bitch and told him to go hug Kate if he needed it.

_Asshole._

Kate completed the day by going over etiquette for formal parties, weddings, and funerals. Dean tried his best to stay focused but it was so fucking boring. Kate caught him yawning and rolling his eyes. She threatened another trip upstairs. That straightened him out fast.  


* * *

 

The next day, Sam called Kate, canceling his appointment. He decided to take Dean out for the weekend. She tried to convince him to not to go. He and Dean did not have the skills yet.  
  
“I know, Kate. Look. He needs some time off and we’re _going_. See you in a few days.”

Dean smiled as he put an arm out the window of that old car Sam could not convince him to let go of. It was cool. And cool to some girls that did not take the size of the car as an inverse proportion to the size of their dicks. Sam tried not to think of it that way. I mean, Dad bought the thing. No clue about the size of his dick. Dean probably knew. Eww, gross.

The car had other flaws. Like, the thing guzzled gas like a drunk at a funeral. Didn’t matter. The wind was in their hair. Their destination? A hunt? Not a chance. Atlantic City, baby!

As Sam pulled the car out of the scrapyard Dean looked giddy—happier than Sam had seen him in a while.

“Oh, my God, Sam! This is going to be fucking awesome. Seriously. Let’s just fucking go nuts! You have the credit cards, yeah?”

“Dude, we can’t do that shit anymore. I have a bank account,” Sam said solemnly, eyes on the road.

“What the fuck? Since when? Since when do we hide money from each other?”

Dean was right. Every time Dean hustled anything, half went to Sam or Dad. _Every time_. Every time Dean got a job, just to keep him occupied while they looked for a hunt? He shared it Sam or Dad.

“At Stanford. I had a job, busing table, waiting tables, tending bar… I was on a full scholarship, Dean. I just banked it. For, like… a ring...” Sam’s voice trailed off.

Oh, shit. Jessica. Jess. That beautiful little thing Sam had fallen for—that pretty little thing who lost her life exactly how Mom did.

“Dean, we need to start living on the up and up. Now, let’s not spend all of it, but I booked a decent hotel on the strip. We’ll go, get a good meal. Steak? Then we’ll hit a bar or two. I am bringing cash, so we can’t get in too much trouble.”

Sam was so goddamn responsible. Dean pursed his lips. So _not_ the good time he hoped for...

 

The black boat of a car arrived in Atlantic City just a few hours before dusk. The bright lights of those giant round streetlights on the boardwalk just started shining, as if the city was priming itself. Dean could not wait. They parked in the back of the hotel garage so she didn’t get dings. Sam checked into the hotel while Dean explored the boardwalk.

Dean texted Sam to meet him at “Chickie’s and Pete’s,” a gaudy bright mustard colored restaurant on the strip. When Sam showed up, Dean threw a giant yellow banana at Sam. Seriously, the thing was huge. About three feet tall, with lazy eyes, a lazy smile, and dreadlocks. Sam caught the thing and gave Dean an open mouthed sneer.

“You’d better hold on to that, Sam… Otherwise, you just might hurt my little slave feelings…” Dean gave him puppy dog eyes. Sam tucked the thing under his arm with a sigh and covert smile.

“Thinking of calling him ‘Bob’ or ‘Marley.’ Thoughts?” Dean asked absently smiling, checking out some guy’s girlfriend in Daisy Dukes and a white bikini top.

“Yeah, maybe ‘Huge Pain in my Ass’ would be more appropriate.”  
  
Dean grabbed the thing by the ear because the damn thing had big yellow ears. He whispered, “Don’t listen to him. He’s just jealous…”

“How’d you win this thing?” Sam laughed.

“They give you three chances, Sammy. You know I’m one hell of a shot. Won this guy on the first try, then another one for the little girl behind me, and that’s when they cut me off,” Dean smiled.

“Classic…” Sam huffed, cheerful.  
  


After a shower, Sam took Dean to dinner at Ruth's Chis. "Bob" the banana sat at the table with them. Even in the presence of a giant banana, Sam began a long conversation about responsibility, consequences, and civility. After which, Sam felt Dean was ready to take on the nightlife. Dean selected a bar with equal amounts of trouble, cute girls, and good music.

Dean left Sam to try his luck with a table of cute girls.

In twenty minutes, Dean came back, drumming the table with both hands.

“Gotta run to the store. There’s one a block down.”

“What the fuck do you need, Dean? And I’m coming with you.” Sam looked annoyed.

“Dude. You want to come with me to buy condoms and smokes?” Dean asked with an arrogant smirk.

“You don’t smoke and yeah, I am coming with you. No discussion,” Sam said firmly.

“No, I don’t smoke, but cutie the big eyes? She does. Sam! Come on! You’re making me feel like a goddamn toddler! I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

Sam smelt the tequila on his breath. He knew those girls had bought him shots. Still. His brother was a grown man. Surely, he had enough self-preservation to handle the drug store. Sam sighed, handing Dean a twenty.

“Be back before you know it!” Dean grabbed the money and tore off without looking back.

Sam almost tore after him. Sam should have probably gone after him. Instead, he pulled out the laptop from his backpack and reread the emails from his former mentor. Dr. Blum had called all the top schools. A lot of them were too good to be true. Sam mused over living in Cambridge. Crazy.

 

Three hours later, Dean showed up, stumbling into the bar with two very pretty, almost _too_ pretty, girls on his arm. One had dyed red hair and a short green party dress, the other a brunette with dark soulful eyes, a red tank top and tiny black skirt. Both were wearing heels too high to be practical.

“Two of mine, Sammy!” Dean called out, a bit too loudly. “This one said I get a discount for being hot and a slave!”

The girls giggled, the redhead caressing Dean’s bicep. The other had her dark chocolate eyes locked on Sam, bedroom eyes looking on with interest.

Sam stared on flummoxed.

Then he stood up enraged. Sam grabbed Dean by the arm, tearing him away from the girls, who looked hurt and confused.

“Just my master…” Dean called back. The girls' eyes went hard. _This is going to go south fast,_ they seemed to say with their eyes as they looked at each other.

“It’s okay, Sam! Bought and paid for. Both clean as a whistle. They have papers and shit.”

“Dean. What. The. Fuck? Seriously? You have been gone for three hours! Now what? You show up with hookers?”

“Ladies of the night, Sam. Ladies of the night. Moonlight ladies,” Dean said irritated. The booze on his brother’s breath was enough to make Sam gag.

Sam’s eyes got wide with realization. “Quoting James Taylor is not going to make this right! Where? Where did you get money to pay for two prostitutes, Dean? I know they don’t take credit cards! Answers. Now.”

Dean pulled out a wad of bills from his jeans. “Told you. I. Can. Suck. A. Dick. Like most of this is tips.” Dean tried to give Sam a charming smile. Wasn’t going to work…

Sam bent at the waist, catching himself by putting both hands on his thighs.

“Jesus, Dean,” he said rubbing his head, about to lose his balance.

Just then, the doors to the bar swung open. Two officers and a red-faced middle-aged man with a bald spot, bad tan job, and overly white teeth entered the bar. The older man sheepishly fingered Dean.

“Ah, man! You said you saw _God!_   What the fuck, dude?” Dean asked with an open mouth.

The female officer shifted her jaw. “You and you!” She pointed to Dean and then Sam. “You’re coming with us.”

The brunette girl shoved some cash into Sam’s pocket as they received a rough police escort out of the bar.

 

The process was long and tedious. Sam and Dean got yet another mug shot, and were fingerprinted… _again_.

Officer Joanne pulled them from the drunk tank, which was sizable and close to capacity. Come on. They were in Atlantic City after all. Sam sat with shoulders pulled in, miserably pulling at his hair. Dean didn’t even stop him. The officer pulled them into a dark room, dimly lit by fluorescent lights, without windows.

She looked at Sam first, holding a sizable file. She shook her head as turned page after page. Taking a deep breath, she looked at both men.  
“This is not good boys. Now, I was pleased to see you brought along your paddle in your backpack, Mr. Winchester. But, this is not good. I am considering going easy on you, seeing as you are so new to this. Though personally, I would love to see slavery abolished, you have _got_ to keep this young man under control. Taking him away would just make things worse for the two of you. Since I do not believe you are abusing him, he is better off with you. But, you _need_ to control him… I'm going to have to send a note to your trainer… She’ll probably assign more discipline, possibly different training… But I am going to need to see you enter this offense in that app and take care of your very disobedient slave…”

Sam’s heart dropped as he pulled up his head in acknowledgment and Dean’s head dropped, both of them thinking the same thing.

_FUCK!_


	19. Deep in the Clink

  
  
  
  
They left Dean in the room by himself, probably so the adults could talk alone… He looked around and saw stark white walls and long metal table with a ring placed conveniently in the center. Dean’s heart sank. They were going to hook those cuffs around his wrists to that hook and prop him up, dressed up like a Sunday ham. This had all happened with Dad before. Dad just had fake IDs.

Dean took a seat, running his fingers through his hair. He needed a cut badly, just didn’t want to ask Sam for the money. Dean looked around the room, no escape, unlike the times before. There was no disappearing into the woodwork. They had an address. _Bobby’s address_. The law had made threats. Real fucking threats.

Sam was lead into the room by a big round officer named Tony. Tony had a greasy face, toothy smile and a uniform that stunk of old coffee and older sweat. He shoved Sam inside, telling him they had an hour before Officer Joanne would join them.

Sam sat down in the metal chair across from Dean. He slumped his shoulders, held himself tight, and shook his head slowly. He rubbed and pulled at his hair, so much that Dean had to stop himself from telling the kid to knock it off. He was hurting himself.

“Why, dude? Why? You know what is at stake… Why?”

Dean looked off at a dull corner of the room. “Just not the same, Sammy…”

“Huh?” Sam asked defeated.

“Dude, I don’t cover up the mark anymore…” Dean said slowly, sadly rolling his fingers over the back of his neck. He was talking about the curly fucking S. That delicate and artful S. On most slaves, it was a shoddily done mark of shame. Dean’s was actually quite beautiful. Didn’t matter, the designation remained the same. Slave.

“AND?” Sam demanded.

“Chicks notice. They don’t believe I’m an FBI agent, ad executive, or talent agent. They know I’m nothing...,” Dean said with a sniff, looking away, afraid to cry.

“So you can’t trick women into sleeping with you? Your sleazy pickup lines don’t work? That’s why we’re here?” Sam demanded.

“Just needed someone, Sam. Got it the only way I know how…” Dean spoke slow and quietly, almost out of character enough to break Sam's heart. Almost.

“Dean. Look where we are, man. I can’t keep doing this. We are not even here for a job, Dean. Now, _Officer Spanky_ wants me beat you. Here… _for prostitution._ That one is new, Dean. What the fuck are we going to tell Kate?” Sam asked both hands of the table.

“Dude. Fuck Kate,” Dean said tensing up.

“Excuse me?” Sam asked, eyes wide.

“Dude. Fuck. Kate,” he said slowly. “This is none of her damn business. She doesn’t need to know bupkis,” Dean said showing his teeth.  Sam shook his head.  Real fucking problem with authority. 

“They are going to tell her. And we have to talk to her. She’s gonna throw you in Obedience School!” Sam retorted.

“Reform school, and not the point.”

“You want to tell me the way out of this?” Sam demanded.

“You spank me in front of these freaks, who will probably whack off to it later… and then we leave town,” Dean said casually. Like they just needed to pack their duffels and check out of the hotel.

“Why, Dean? Why?” Sam asked miserably.

“Dude. I need my own cash. This is not working, Sam. It’s just not working. I can’t just beg for everything!” Dean snarled. 

“Beg for what?” Sam asked confused.

“Beg to get fucking wasted. Beg to get laid. Beg to feel like a fucking human being!”

“So this is hard for you? You think you are the only one having to deal with this shit? Dean, I am terrified of leaving you. And I know I can’t take you along. And I know I have to grow up and get a good damn job, Dean. This is hard…”

 _Yeah, yeah. Sammy’s sad he has to run off to school again, whiny bitch_ , Dean really wanted to say.

“Damnit, Sammy! What the fuck do you want from me, huh? You want a manservant or a brother? You want to deal with my shit or just try and beat me until I do right… like Dad?”

Sam threw up his hands in resignation.

“I want to not be in a police station right now! I want to be on vacation, one I think we both earned. Fuck, Dean. Fuck.” Sam said, crumbling into his hands.

That seemed to relax Dean. He rolled his neck, looking around the room.

“You got me there. Don’t really like it here either,” Dean said coolly.

“Get ready to hate it even more in the next half hour,” Sam said frustrated, looking around the room, pushing against the table, kicking his chair up, rocking slightly.

“Watch it, Sammy, or you’re gonna scuff the floor,” Dean said with a smirk.

Sam huffed with a smile.

If there was anything Dean learned from living that hard, dangerous, unpredictable, and soul-crushing life with Dad, it was how to turn a bad situation into a smile. For Sammy's sake. Always made him feel better to see the kid smile.

Since they had forty minutes, Sam pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket. A list of trainers in his area. The two used it played table football until they heard the latch of the door unlock. Both froze. Sam shoved that triangular folded piece of paper in his mouth, like contraband they shouldn’t have. Dean watched, huffed and rolled his eyes. Still a fucking kid.

 

No one smiled when Officer Joanne Bradley marched into the room. She looked like a typical cop. Slicked back brown hair, minimal makeup, crisp uniform and a frown set on permanent. She held up Sam’s phone and his army green backpack. She tossed it on the table.

Sam covertly spit out the "football," shoving it in his pocket. The officer did not care or notice.

“Unlock it. Open the app,” she said gently but directly. She did not want to do this, either.

Both sighed a momentary breath of relief as Sam showed her the number three.

She pointed to Dean and then to the short end of the table, giving him a quick snap. He stood up strong, walked over and waited. She pulled a clasp out of her pocket and pulled his arms over the table.

“Just how we do things here,” she explained, a little guiltily.

“S’ okay,” Dean said not looking at her as he lay stretched over the table, embarrassed and exposed. His hips just at the cusp of the table. This was the worst.

Sam shifted through his backpack, sniffling a little. He pulled out the paddle. It felt cold and foreign in his hands like he couldn’t believe he was holding it or even that he owned it.

“Don’t worry, Dean. We’ll make this quick and not as bad as before.”

“Yeah? Well, I don’t see any pink lights, Sammy, so I ain't holding my breath...”

“Umm,” the officer interrupted. “You are going to have to take his pants down. I’ll stand over here, but you need them down to see what you’re doing and enter everything in the app.”

She walked to the opposite side of the room, so she was closer to Dean’s head than his ass.

Sam winced, walking over to Dean, standing behind him. He fuddled with Dean’s belt, then Dean’s best pair of jeans, and his lucky boxers. Not like they hadn’t seen each other naked hundreds of times before. Dad sure didn’t care about their modesty. This just felt worse.

Sam tugged at the clothes, pulling them to mid-thigh, a courtesy Dad never extended. Dean felt it, even felt a little grateful for it.

Sam centered himself. Talked himself down. Tried to ignore the pig in the room. All right, she was nice. Focus, Sam. He told himself over and over, guide it to him, no power, just work.

Sam pulled back the paddle with closed eyes and gave Dean a sharp slap that opened Dean’s green eyes wide.

Officer Bradley looked intently at her phone, obviously trying to escape what was happening in the room. She did not believe in corporal punishment. It was not like they were whacking freemen who fucked up, beat their wives, their kids, sold drugs on the schoolyard. Due process. Rehabilitation. Fucking fines. Sentences not handed out to slaves. Punishments were.

Sam pulled back the paddle, giving Dean smack after smack as Dean kicked up a leg occasionally, letting Sam know it was getting worse. Dean sniffled and tried damn hard not to cry, breathing through his mouth, hissing through his set of perfect teeth.

Eventually, he did. Didn’t even hurt that bad. Sam made good on his promise. This was not as brutal as before. But that made it all the more embarrassing. Still hurt. Hurt his ass. Hurt his pride. Hurt and burned until he was twitching and shifting, pulling his ass in, twisting, trying in a vain attempt to avoid the blows.

“Can you move the assault up or down, Sam?” Dean asked with a shaky breath.

“Shut up, Dean. Gotta get the color right,” Sam said more focused than he needed.

Right on his damn sit spot. Fuck. Making this whole mess more confusing and painful. Dean pulled at the restraints futilely and sobbed. Everything in his world crashing around him.

“Done!” Sam cried as he pulled out the phone and took the picture, staring impatiently at Officer Bradley.

She jerked to attention, rushing over to the table to unhook the cuffs.

She left the room with an “I’m sorry.”

“Come here,” Sam commanded. He was wise. Didn’t matter. Dean needed this. Fuck him if he didn’t want it.

Dean walked over, tearful and grateful. Sam grabbed him, pulling him like a child on to his lap, rubbing his back and petting his hair. Trying desperately to comfort him the way Dean had done for him for so many years.

After about ten minutes, after Dean exhausted himself from the tears and the spanking, he pulled away.

“Can we not any more chick-flick moments? I have a reputation to maintain,” he said straightening his shirt.

“If you can stop getting arrested, we’ll talk.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get the fuck back to Bobby’s. Think he’s out of the drunk tank yet?”

“God, I don’t know. He was pretty bad.”

“True. Probably should have talked to him.”

“Tried once, you know?”

Dean shook his head, looking at Sam like he couldn’t believe his brother would be so brave. Respect.

“He threw a bottle at my head and told me to mind my own fucking business,” Sam chuckled.

“Sounds like Bobby. You got some balls, son!”

“Ha. Ha. Kate must be something special?”

“Yeah, he’s going to have my ass, isn’t he?”

“And how!” Sam laughed rolling his eyes.

“They taking me away? Selling me off?” Dean asked slowly, looking down to the ground.

“Nah. They are giving us a warning. You'd have to pull a heist or something or I’d have to be beating you, I guess. Let’s not test them. That’s just from Officer Bradley. Dean? Don’t do this to me, again,” Sam pleaded, tired. They had been there eight hours.

“Learned my lesson, dude. Learned my lesson,” Dean said rubbing his bottom deeply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemme know if I'm spanking Dean too much.  
> Just kinda enjoy it. Muhhahaha


	20. Like the Hound that Fights his Cage

  
  
  
  
  
9 AM Sioux Falls, ND

 

Kate fumed in the cab of her ancient car. She shook her head and tried to calm herself. She had been shaking her head at odd times ever since she had received that direct call from Officer Bradley. Did they have _any_ idea--any _clue_ how reckless they were? 

She sighed. Battered childhoods, lacking any female influence. Damnit, she did not feel like playing Mommy today. Kate pushed open the car door.

She stomped across the yard. Dean was watching her out the window. She caught his glance that said, “Oh, shit…”

 _Damn straight_. She threw the fat of her fist into the storm door, creating a rattling racket.  


_Dean’s heart missed its beat as he shifted in the seat. Two days later. His ass had mostly healed. Damn it. She was still going to lay into him, wasn’t she?_  
  
  
  
Sam opened the door timidly, his heart pounding in his ears. His long arms held open the storm door in a weak effort to curry favor. His fear mirroring Dean’s exactly.

Kate ducked under his arms.

“Sam. Out,” Kate said harshly, a twitch in her eye, not even deigning to look at him. Her eyes were trained on Dean.

Sam looked shell-shocked.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t hear me! OUT,” the twang and force in her voice were unsettling.

Sam hustled his ass out of the house, trying not laugh because " _Someone’s in Trouble._ " He felt so childish, he bit a knuckle on the way out. Opening the door, he stepped outside, taking a deep breath of freedom.

Honestly, Sam was a little scared she’d be pissed at him, too, take that paddle to his ass, again. Thank you, God, for small favors.

 

~*~  
  
  
Dean did not fare so well.

Kate dropped her bag, it crumbled in the corner, obedient and waiting. Kate walked hard over to Dean, her black boot thudding hard on the wood floor.

She lifted his chin with a knuckle, staring hard into his eyes. He blinked, and looked to fight instinct to pull away.

“You want to explain why I got a call from an Officer Bradley about prostitution?”

“No. No, I don’t,” Dean said almost coolly, as if his voice _didn’t_ just fucking crack. He coughed a little to cover it up, ripping his neck away from her hand as the knuckle slid with a pop from his cleft chin. Kate remained collected. She inhaled, then looked at him genuinely curious, one of her eyes squinting.

“You asking for _another_ beating, boy?” she asked frankly, pulling back to get a better look at him, hand on her hip.

Dean scowled. A puff of air escaped his lips obstinately.

“Because I am trying to figure out why the hell I am having this conversation with you, boy?”

“Name’s Dean…,” he said looking off, trying not standup and fight her. He looked ready for it. Testosterone rising from his skin.

“Huh. You start acting like a man, and not a spoiled child, _I will change my tone_. You _want_ a whipping, boy?” she asked with a slight sneer. Her voice expectant and ringing clear, almost as though she expected a yes.

Now he looked to her stunned. The blood draining from his face, terrified. A lump in his throat appeared, not to be ignored.

Kate cranked her lip.

“You ever been whipped boy? I have. You are nothing but a babe when it comes to living like a slave. Boy, I I have seen many punishments more severe than Sam could even conceive of. Than even your _daddy_ could carry out. And you? You’re bound to get a taste if you keep this shit up. You understand that, correct? If Sam loses you? You understand with your pleasure training, you’d be in line for some sick shit and or _mess_ of pain. Now I _am_ trying to scare you, Dean. Trying to scare you because you are _not_ scared enough. What were you thinking? Were you thinking?”

“Look, I’m sorry! I got it from Sam at the station. We really need to do this?” Dean asked wearily, looking away desperately to distance himself from her words. Kate saw, he was shaken. His defiance not lost on her.  
  
Kate’s eyes shot open wide.

“Oh. You thought we’d just _forget_ about how I almost _lost_ you as a client? That my supervisor is going to ream my ass for letting this happen? You better start talking or we will march up those stairs right now.”

Dean’s eyes fell fast to the floor, dropping in submission and defeat. Kate watched him heave in and out. He couldn’t hide it anymore. He’d crack soon.

“You wouldn’t understand…” his voice near a whisper.

Kate's volume increased suddenly, warning and bating.

“You had better try me Dean.”

Dean ruffled his hair, looking past the living room, through the dirty window, to the old yard.

“I can’t go anywhere or do anything. I can’t get laid, I can’t have any fucking fun that doesn’t involve Netflix or porn. I am going crazy…”

“ _Dean_ , you cannot be trusted with a twenty dollar bill. You are going to _have_ to start leaning on Sam. He needs to be with you at all times. And you need off the booze.”

Dean inhaled sharply. 

“What do you think I should do about this?” she asked tapping a fingernail on end table. The tap, tap, tap echoing in the stillness of the room.

The drumming echoing in Dean’s head as he grabbed a fistful of dusty blond hair. Kate watched as it taunted the slave. She was close to answers.

“Nothing. Let me get a fucking haircut. Let me go out by myself,” he said hesitantly, his voice shaky and unsure. Vulnerable.

“You sucked some man’s dick to get a haircut… Do you _hear_ how ridiculous that sounds? That might work on Sam but I know you Dean.”

Dean bristled. His shoulders tensing. His fight and anger returning in waves. Kate exhaled. Here it comes…

“How the fuck do you _know_ me? You don’t _know_ me. You couldn’t. You’ve never _been_ allowed out, have you? Not really. Locked away with that old lady and her cane? Bobby your first date, Kate?” he asked snidely.

Dean’s words bit. Bit down hard. Kate did feel the burn. She brushed it off like a gnat on her shoulder. His insults not anything Kate had not heard before. Still, they did poke at her defenses, as she stood in his house. So close to Bobby’s things. Kate returned his fire, controlled and serious. 

“Boy? You realize I could string you up outside in that garage. A lot of hooks out there. I know how to do it, no blood, no scars, just marks, welts and bruises. You saw my tattoos, correct? One of them is _overseer_. I would watch who I was insulting, Dean,” she said calmly.

“Just fucking _do_ it then! Get it over with. I am sick of this,” Dean barked. His mouth pulling in and out of a sneer, looking like feral animal trapped in a locked cage, his eyes darting around the room.

“No. No. You _want_ that, don’t you? To feel you have no of control over your situation. Feel like Daddy, Sam and I are just being mean to you. You feel misunderstood and _that_ is why you think you can be a complete ass.”

Dean’s sculpted lips bore teeth. He was pissed. His green eyes dark and hooded his brow.

“Your Uncle will be home soon enough. You clean this house. Top to Bottom. Then? You go out there and work on those cars. Work on them till the sun goes down. Then you turn on some lights and work harder. I had better see some fucking progress or I will call the office.”

Dean swallowed audibly, his lip starting to go. Kate knew her threats were too real to ignore. She gave him orders. He would follow them. Like the good soldier, she knew he could be.

_Exhausting._

Then his head fell down. There it was. 

“Alright. Okay.”

“YES, _WHAT_?” she snapped, still pissed.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied looking her in the eye, like a good boy.

“Be good Dean. Or there will be Hell to pay,” she promised.

Dean sniffed a nod.

Kate wrote a list of what she wanted cleaned, dusted, vacuumed, buffed, polished, and scrubbed. She posted it on the fridge with saying a word.

~*~

 

Sam heard the front door shut with a crash. Then a loud ear-piercing whistle calling him back. Sam hustled, jogging back quickly, not upset her further. Truthfully, moments prior, he had been throwing bolts at an old Ford Escort, worrying about the state of Dean’s ass.

She barely looked at him as she walked toward her truck, opening the cab, the old door creaking a welcome. She settled herself, securing the soft belt around her waist, talking more to steering wheel than to Sam.

“I am going to leave him to you. I will be back in two days. Dean had better finish his work. And you? You get that boy a haircut today before I shave his head. You take care of him, Sam. You are mother, father and master to that boy. If you can’t take care of the bare necessities, you do not deserve to keep him. I will not say this twice.”

Sam paled, his eyebrows raised in concern as he nodded double quick to the scrap yard. She had already pulled away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! An Update!
> 
> Happy All Saints Day!!!


	21. Congratulations Bobby

Sioux Falls, SD 9 AM

 

Kate drove her truck slowly into Bobby’s lot. What she saw there gave her pause. The sinking feeling she had amassed, turned to waves of sorrow. She threw her neck from side to side, her still damp hair whipping againt her long neck.

 _Christ Almighty._ There it was. The red station wagon nestled parallel to the giant black Chevy. Her teeth began to clench and grind hard on their neighbors. Her plump lips pursed and her lower lip started its little tremble.

 _Be a good girl Katy_ …she told herself over and over as she talked herself out of leaving. _Be a good girl._ She parked her truck and braced herself. The waves of anger and sadness pulling tears until she told them firmly, NO. Brushing them away with two purposeful strokes.

_Katy. He’s done nothing wrong._

The man simply realized sooner than later that he’d have no future with her. Nothing to look forward to but stolen kisses, rushed dinners, and early nights. Simple as that. Not to mention, Mrs. Carver _owned_ her. Outright. A woman he hated most in this world, Kate must repulse him. The feeling tore at her stomach until she laid a hand on it and told it, NO.

_Don’t you leave. Katy, you cannot leave._

Her obligation to her charges too great for her to leave them. She knew Ben would teach Sam to whip Dean in the yard. She knew Sara would teach Sam to lock Dean in the closet. Dylan was all right, but there’d be no guarantee. She could not leave them.

Kate twisted free the cap on her bottle and chugged it sloppily to calm herself.

_10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…Open the door, Kate. Get out of the truck. Be a good girl._

Kate smoothed her hair lovingly. Rolled her shoulders straight and tall. Steeled her face and opened the door, grabbing her bag and walking hard to the front steps.

Kate talked herself down. Never date clients again. The risk is too great, the reward fleeting and the end too painful. _Knock on the door, Kate._

  
  
  
To her extreme relief, Dean opened the door. She gave him a hesitant smile and slight nod. Dean looked shocked she wasn't still angry

“Good morning! How are my boys?” She smiled trying not to stare at Bobby. Bobby got up to greet her. He was clean, shaved and looking at her like a soldier who sees his girl for the first time after the war. He wrapped his strong arms around her. She stood ridged.

“What in _God’s name_ is wrong with you?” Bobby looked at her intensely and tilted his head slightly. In one swift movement, the older man produced a small bottle from one of the tall bookcase, splashing water onto her face.

A small dent appeared on her forehead as she pulled herself back. “What the hell?”

His deep blue eyes narrowed in thought, he tossed a small tarnished cup at her, she caught it on reflex. The dent growing deeper as she cocked her head to the side.

“Okay, I hate to be that guy, but I am that guy. We need to talk.”

Kate handed the cup back to Bobby, curtly. The little cup looked to be silver and his, as etched in the side was his birthday and name. She buried her face in her sleeve to wipe the water off.

“Bobby, I have to work, I don’t have a lot of time…” she said dismissively, looking deep into her bag. This was the weirdest assignment she had ever had. By far.

“Don’t care. Come on.” He pulled open the front door and pointed. Katy squared her shoulders and stared back with a tiny shake, NO. His face tensed and he pointed harder. Damnit, she thought to herself. Bastard is still a freeman. Have to do whatever the fuck he says within reason.  
  


  
She walked back outside, keeping a sizable distance.

“Kate, why are you acting like I ran over your dog?” his accent thicker than it had been in years.

Kate crossed her arms, cocking her head, looking like she’d rather bite him than talk to him.

“Look here, Bobby Singer, I know I don’t have a lot to offer, but I _am_ a human being. You do not need to blow town to write me off. You should have just told me. You could have called. But I guess I am not worth it.”

Bobby pulled his head up high, nodding slightly with understanding.

“Cut the damn drama, I am too old for it. I left town to dry out. I quit drinking. It was horrible. I wanted to be a better man for you, darling. Not write you off.” His voice dropping off at the end. It felt like sweet melody filling her ears. Then as melodies do, it filled her heart.

Kate looked at him, tears welled in her big eyes, she fell into him. Bobby welcomed her with one of the kindest hugs she had ever experienced. Warm, musky and tender. She cried, pulled up on her tip toes, kissing him. Deeply. Then she pulled back.

“I’m still mad at you Bobby,” she was crying and laughing.

“I know, doll. It’s something women do. Just give it a minute,” he spoke softly. “Did you see the sign?” he pointed up.

“OPEN for REPAIRS,” she read slowly. The sign worn and rusted, but new and promising. She looked at him puzzled.

“That way, I’ll make well over 40K a year,” Bobby pulled a half smile. He almost looked proud. Warmth and love replaced her ire. Then she paused. Looking at him timidly.

“You know it never bothered me,” she said quietly concerned.

“I know, but I decided you deserved a man…not the town drunk,” he said plainly. Almost like he hadn’t just changed his entire life for her.

She felt a twinkle fill her eyes. She knew what to do.

“You think you can tell the boys to take a hike for a while?” she asked in her own twang.

He looked at her queerly then nodded.

“Sure, why?”

“I’m calling in sick for my next appointment. We need to celebrate! Unless you want to wait till Saturday?”

“Fuck ‘em. Consider them gone.”

Bobby opened the door and called out, “Sam. Dean. Get the fuck out. Don’t come back til…” Kate help up four fingers, she was on the phone. Bobby nodded. “Until 4. Yes, I mean _now,_ you jackasses. Do not make me come get you, Sam!”

Kate skittered past them and began to take off her shoes.  
  
Dean stumbled out the door, followed by Sam, who held a brush and still had a mouth full of toothpaste.

The door slamming shut as soon as Sam stepped out.

Bobby closed the front door, locking it.

“What are you doing?” he asked bewildered.

By that time, Kate was peeling off her jeans and then had her shirt over her arms.

“Well, you want to celebrate don’t you? You sure as hell aren’t drinking to celebrate not drinking! Follow me.” She hopped up the stairs. Prancing up those stairs like a show pony.

By the time Bobby followed her, he found Kate had jumped into his bed. She was more than half-naked and smiling.

 

 

Bobby eyes locked on her, her eyes so hungry and her gaze so confident and coy, she pulled a half smile. He felt himself fill to half mast. Blood vacating his brain and filling everywhere else.

He looked her over. Letting his eyes play up and down her body as she sat expectant and waiting. He looked her over, eyes shining in surprise. Kate now donned only two articles of clothing. A matching black lacy bra with a tiny rose bud in the center and a pair of lacy black panties.

Bobby’s eyes traced her curves, her soft milky white skin still supple and unblemished. Pure and radiant. Her scent over powering his room. Bobby unconsciously ran his tongue over his lips. _Good God,_ he was glad he changed the sheets and burned that pile of befouled clothing.

He took a cleansing deep breath through his nose. His heart thumping into his head. _Calm the hell down, Singer. You aren't going to last a minute with this girl if you don’t calm the hell down._

Then he choked. Not literally. What the fuck did she want to do? _No experience_. He remembered her words. They etched themselves into his brain. Not that he could listen. That little voice silenced by that piercing stare. Bobby pulled his neck back.

“What do you have in mind?”

“Do you like games, Mr. Singer?” she asked with a raised chin.

“I guess it would depend on the game.”

“How about a game where I try to keep you going for as long as I can?”

“I think I would have to see that one played…” No idea how that came out. _Still smooth_. He smiled his crooked smile.

“This is going to be amazing!”  
  
Kate’s excitement contagious.

 

 

He traversed the ten feet to his bed. His thick redwood four posted had intricate details carved into the wood, curling into the fine posts. He had carved it for Karen. Robust and solid, it stood firm, planted thick. She tucked herself to her waist in soft blankets. The bed, so massive, caused her to look childlike. However, the look in her eye was pure femme fatale. Seductive and welcoming.

Bobby crawled into the bed to greet her. Still on his hands and knees, she guided him onto his back. Bobby’s chest heaved in and out, as she smiled at him deviously. Bobby’s mind blanked. He had no control he wanted to claim. Bobby gave it all to her. Holy hell. If she is a witch? _Hail Hecate!_

 

Kate looks at Bobby like first piece of cake cut a birthday party. Her eyes are sparkling and dancing. Bobby has never felt so much like a prize. The feeling makes his heart beat into his ears.

Bobby wants to tell her she’s beautiful. He wants to tell her she doesn’t have to do this. He could take care of this for her. He should be doing all of this for her...but she’s got her fingers in his mouth and he’s loving it. Bobby’s lips are plump and ripe. Ready and tingling. Kate is popping his buttons free with her mouth. She’s laying kisses on his bare chest, tugging slightly at his mass of curly hair with her teeth as the plaid shirt starts open wide until she can pull the pieces open like the curtains on stage.

Bobby wants to grab her hair. His fingers are itching to do it. To pet and caress her. He can’t because she already dismissed his hands, forcing them firmly to his side. The only words he can keep straight in his addled brain are _Yes, ma’am_.

Kate has grabbed his reigns and is about to holler _Giddy-up_. She makes quick work of his Levis, shoving down his legs with a quick yank. So fast, he feels himself pulse and quake with some feeling like fear, but more akin to lust.

Kate lost her gag reflex years ago. They wouldn’t let her leave the facility until she did. For the first time ever, she’s glad they kept her there. As Kate swallows him whole, Bobby’s breath catches in the most delicious way. His eyes steadily rolling back in to his heads as Kate licks him up. His head bobbing, like it a puppet forced to nod.

Kate makes good on her promise. Bobby is hard and aching for over an hour. Treating him like kid treats a playground. So much to explore. Her anticipation riding her for years and she’s finally been let out to play.

At first, Bobby groans when Kate catches him close. Bobby thinks he should come quick. Bobby’s been trying. Not too hard but Bobby was trying. Kate smirks and moves on to his nipples. Kate feeds and teases him. Kate licks them each up until Bobby feels the slow climb. Heat and desire building as the steps of pleasure escalate. Steady.

The next time Bobby’s close, Kate lets him ride it a little further. Until Bobby is gasping for breath, and his hands are curled deep into gray sheets, fists in balls. Bobby starts his Ah’s. He’s chanting now. Kate pulls back.. Kate’s body flush with his. Bobby knows he’s being toyed with loves it despite his sharp cry as Kate pulled away from his aching cock.

The next time, Kate get Bobby close with her hands. Swirling and thumbing the head until his back arches off of the bed.

The last time, Kate’s mouth is full to brim with Bobby’s cock. Bobby’s bucking his hips as gently as he can. Bobby’s still a gentleman but he can’t say for how much longer he can keep his manners. Kate’s lips curl in wicked smile around his cock that she worked to stone hardness.

Kate discovers, she like to watch and it’s time. Kate pulls back and Bobby’s eyes bulge because this so rapturously unfair. Kate meets his wide eyes with a reply Bobby’s been desperate to hear…

“Now,” Kate says, more as a command.

The sigh Bobby gives her is grateful and guttural. A deep primal growl. Kate grabs him by the base, fingers coiled firmly. Kate’s eyes never leave his as she slips her mouth around him again. Kate grabs his hands and laces them into her hair. Bobby’s grip is so firm, she’s almost to tears, but it feel amazing.

Kate knows she’s broken his wall. Civility and gentility vanish as Bobby’s base instinct overwrite his years of society. Kate allows Bobby to gasp her hair tight and buck his hips straight into her warm, soft mouth.

Bobby’s release takes off with a bang. And then another. And then another. Bobby had not cleaned his pipes since the boys showed up months ago. Bobby’s religious upbringing causes him to chant, “Jesus! Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!” Bobby’s body pulls him up until he’s sitting up as his body curled in on itself. Kate’s mouth full of cum, she swallows like the cat that has just gotten the cream.

Bobby falls hard back into the bed. Tired, like he just fought a beast of hell. Content, like someone he loved just said it back.

Bobby’s body heaved, Kate curled into him, stroking his hair and telling him how amazing he is. Bobby pulled himself to his side, purposefully placing kisses down her neck. Kate pushed Bobby firmly on his back again.

“Enjoy this Bobby,” Kate told him with enough authority, he believed her.

His eyes fell closed and he drifted off to sleep, snoring gently. Kate’s lips pulled to blissful smile.

 

~*~

 

 

After twenty minutes, Bobby jerked from sleep. Kate didn’t mind. Kate’s body snuggled next to his, sore in ways she’d never been before. Bobby’s smell and his taste lingering on her lips and in the air as she inhaled deep.

As women do, Kate studied him in his sleep. Her blue eyes traced his lines and muscles. He stirred and pulled her closer to him. Bobby collecting her tight in big arms. She laid content in his warmth until his shallow breaths lulled her to sleep.

Bobby shook his head again hoping to gain back his senses. He kissed her forehead. Kate opened her bright eyes to meet his.

“My God. You are…amazing…” Bobby’s voice shaky and grateful.

“I just wanted to say congratulations.”

Bobby could hear the smile in her voice.

“I think I got that message, Darling, thank you.” He held her in his arms, his chin nuzzled in her hair.

“You believe in God, Kate?”

“I do, Bobby.”

“You believe all the bad, all the hell in someone’s life can just fade, just for a moment. It doesn’t matter anymore. All the rot and all the pain we inflict just feels gone, not forever, but just for a moment it doesn’t feel so bad. You here to do that, Kate?”

“Darlin’, it doesn’t matter.  Not to me. It’s gone, Bobby. It’s gone. No, you don’t need it with me.... 

“Bobby, I am here because when I am with you, I do not feel like lower than anybody else. I don’t feel like property, I feel like if I can just be close to you, I am touching something better than myself. Something that gives me value too. It’s beautiful.”

“One day, you are going to realize just how special you are, Doll,” he said with a sad smile. He knew that day would not come any time soon. Eileen Carver seeing to that. But someday…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, the last chapter was a downer. 
> 
> Look, she needed to scold him a little. They got arrested!
> 
> Hope this chapter lightened the mood. :)


	22. What are We Going to do about This?

Bobby Singer can fix damn near anything and everyone in town knows it. Before he started raising hell, Cain and everything in between, the most reliable shop in town was Singer Auto. Bobby knew the newer cars, with their computers and gizmos, are going to give him some extra figuring. But, he’s not too worried. Alfie Howard left without notice yesterday from Faulkson Motors. Bobby gave him an okay and that was the end of it. Well, after a very short phone call.

Alfie was just grateful to get out of there. Alfie is a sweet ginger-haired, lanky, knobby-kneed boy of a man who knocked up his high school sweetheart. Dean liked him right away: he’s quick, jovial, and loves getting his hands dirty. The kid’s life was less than perfect but it has not made him bitter. Alfie’s wife, Beth, worked hard, got her education and was teaching locally at the elementary school. The young Mr. Howard hated his former job, but between Alfie’s parents, Beth’s parents, Beth and an eight-year-old boy? The young man was stuck in Sioux Falls like an old boot in the muck. At least now, Alfie was not stuck under the toe of Mack Breuer. He was grateful and told Bobby he’d handle all the electronics.

Right now, Bobby was not worried about Alfie or anything else, other matters are more pressing. Bobby watches as his girl pulls up. He hears the engine knocks slightly as she parks. He nods his head slightly, he’s going to fix that for her.

Right now, Bobby’s not worried about who he’s talking to and being full on rude. He has stopped what he’s doing to stare. Pausing mid-conversation with Mr. Reeves, an old farmer who brought in an old F150. Bobby’s mind blanked, he was in process of telling him the man he needed a new alternator. The part was going to be cheap as Bobby had one just laying around. The farmer reveled in the good news as Bobby watched Kate climb out of the pickup and jaunt over to him.

She’s so damn cute, he thinks to himself as he watches her pigtails. The locks sway back and forth with her gait. Pigtails Bobby would like to grab on to until he kicks himself. She’s even prettier today if that’s humanly possible. Her face glows and her cheeks blush as she muscles through the yard, her eyes so locked Bobby’s afraid she’s going trip on something.

Truthfully, Bobby wasn’t sure she’d show today. Everything’s been happening so fast more than once he’s sure he’s in some damn Djinn’s dream. A beautiful illusion designed and tailored to him. Bobby talks himself down because she smells right and feels more right than Bobby by thinks he earned.

Kate struts up like a champion, grabbing his shirt, pulling him close for a kiss. She even kicks up a leg, like they do in the old movies. It’s silly because she’s still in those black work boots, but sexy because it’s her.

Kate pulls back, and then abruptly flushes at the customer.

“John Reeves! Good to see you!” Kate calls out too loud, turning her attention to the older man. Her face pulling in a nervous smile. She extends a hand to shake his. The old man hugs her like it’s after church and they are catching up.

“Kate Jenkins! You seeing this junkyard dog?” John looks amused as he rubs his forehead.

John’s an old Navy man, older than Bobby by about twenty years. John’s long and trim, more muscular than a man his age is typically. The sun and the land have worn him hard, but that hasn’t stopped his kind disposition. Mr. Reeves knew Bobby’s momma, hated Bobby’s daddy. Even threatened a fistfight when he saw Frank Singer hauling his boy out of church to beat him. Didn’t stop his daddy, but Bobby remembered and is still grateful. Bobby’s gotten nothing but kind words from the man. Bobby would have done the work for free if Mr. Reeves allowed it.

“Guess I’m just lucky enough that he’d have me,” Kate answers, smiling mischievously at Bobby.

John’s eyes narrow with concern.

“Kate you be careful, kid. Now, I have known Eileen Carver since grade school. That old witch’d have your hide and you know it. I am glad you’re happy, girl. See you Sunday?”

Bobby watches Kate’s lips twitch a little. Her head falls a little.

“Thank you, Mr. Reeves. I will. And of course. See you Sunday,” Kate’s got a gratefulness and relief to her voice Bobby’s never heard before. “Bobby? I’m going inside to see the boys. See you later?” She’s still got her eyes full of sparkle, even though she’s managed a straight face.

“Of course. See you later,” Bobby’s a little confused how to handle this. His heart warms as his faith in the rest of humanity climbs just an inch forward. Bobby’s looking at Mr. Reeves like he wants to hug him. He thinks better of it and just offers the man a cold drink.

 

Kate opens the door without knocking. Sam is working on his laptop in the living room. The kitchen door slams shut as Dean comes skipping in, hustling a little. He’s already dirty and sweaty but looks happy as a clam at high tide. He takes a seat next to Sam.

“You’re in a good mood today,” Kate declares, almost as if she was not riding a cloud of her own. She parks herself on the opposite couch.

“Business is awesome! Wow. Don’t know how he did it, but we’ve got six cars out there to repair. _And a new guy!_ Bobby’s offering him a cut of the profits till we get on our feet. Apparently, the only other shop in town is incompetent at best and crooked at worst. Dude jumped that ship, like a rat looking for Bermuda. New kid’s teaching me all this newfangled computery shit newer cars got going. It’s pretty cool…” Dean talking fast, smiling with teeth. He’s like an adorable puppy who finally got his bone.

Sam returns his brother’s goodwill with a bright smile of his own. He looks like things are on an upswing for him as well.

“It’s been pretty intense since Bobby put that sign up and word got out. What are we doing today, Kate?” Sam’s smiling.

“Let’s see, we just need to review goals, rewards and consequences. We have to enter some information into a program. The committee has a few questions they want you to answer, Sam,” Kate pulls out an ancient ThinkPad. Her finger flying around the keys. “This will help. Easy peasy. Everything going okay?” Kate asks over her nose.

“Just wondering… What the hell did you do to Bobby?” Dean cocked a smile wide and expectant with his brows raised high.

“Yeah, he is dancing on cloud nine. I think I heard him singing,” Sam says, about to giggle.

“A girl needs to keep some secrets,” Kate said blankly. Not their business, but good information. “Okay! Let us revise this chore chart with the new work Dean’s doing for Bobby. Are you planning on staying here or are you going to go back to school with Sam?”

Sam and Dean looked at each other. The two of them looked stunned, embarrassed and lost. She shook her head and sighed heavily, waiting for an answer. Had they really not discussed this? After everything that has happened? Really!

Dean twitched his lips a little, blushing slightly, he’s guessing and hoping he’s right.

“Not real good at school. I should probably stay with Bobby. I think it might be harder to get into trouble here in Sioux Falls. I need to keep my nose clean.” Dean rubbed his nose, pointing a finger playfully back at her. Dean’s mood is hard to shake.

“That might make things a little difficult but not impossible. Sam would need to make the drive up here at least once a month. For maintenance,” Kate’s voice drops as she watches Dean’s heart sink. He rolled his neck sluggishly, sat down and put his head in his hands, running his hands the length of his neck and head.

“Can I drive to him?” he asked looking up.

“Not by yourself. Not until your two years is up. You are mostly grounded within the state of South Dakota unless you travel with Sam.”

“It’s fine, Dean. I could also see about colleges in Massachusetts. My mentor does have contacts and a position that opened up at Harvard. They said I’d be a good fit,” Sam said smiling brightly, biting his lip, his eyes dancing a little, looks like he’s been itching to break the news.

“ _Oh, my God! Sammy! Seriously? No shit? That is freakin’ fantastic!_ You never stop knocking my socks off, kid. That is really great. I am so proud of you,” Dean said glowing, like the kid he raised just got a yes from Harvard. Because that is exactly what happened.

Sam’s blushing, rubbing his knees.

“That is really amazing news Sam!” Kate revels. Then she cranked her mouth in thought. “Not close, but that is awesome. But Sioux Falls is about a day or less drive.

“We have had our almost three weeks together. Fortunately, I see a lot of some progress. A few setbacks… but on the whole? Sam, you’re taking control and that was no small task. We do need to fill out these forms together,” Kate says pointedly, looking directly at Sam.

“Anything for me to do?” asked Dean.

“A few questions at the end. Now it’s time for me and Sam to discuss progress.”

 _“Doesn’t that involve me?”_ Dean asked, now more concerned.

“You have passed these exams before. The notes on the file focus on Sam’s ability to keep you out of trouble,” Kate says not looking up from her work. She is diligently clicking and typing.

“Yeah, yeah…” Dean left, going outside to help with the cars, the door carelessly slamming behind him.  
  
  
  
Kate flinches at the noise but moves on quickly.

“So there are a few questions, the committee wants to be answered. Here’s the first: ‘ _What do you intend to do about Dean’s drinking?''_ ”

Sam inhales, rubbing his knees harder, looking into the Karen’s seventies macramé owl, wise, flat and staring back. He opens his mouth, considering then closes it.

“Let’s skip that one for now… I’ll think about it.”

Kate squints at his reply, but continues.

_"'How do you intend to keep Dean in good standing with the law?’”_

Now Sam is rubbing his head, his long hair flapping back and forth.

“Maybe I need to think about that one too.”

Kate rubbed her head, her good mood fading. “Okay: _‘What do you intend to do about Dean’s increase in violent tendencies?_ ’”

“Oh, God! Do you know the answer to any of these? He’s stubborn as shit. I don’t know! Get him a real job? Lock him in Bobby’s panic room?”

“Wait, what the hell is a panic room?” Kate asks confused.

“Don’t worry about it… This is really hard.” Sam is now looking at the Victorian ceiling tiles.

“It does not have to be. We can work with Dean on some goals, consequences, and teach him how to meet those goals.”

“So what? He fucks up, I beat him? How is that going to solve anything?” Sam asks, his frustration returning.

“I think you should ask him,” Kate sighed. Kate pulled open the kitchen door and hollered: “Dean, you need to come back inside.”

Dean slowly swaggers into the room. He’s on the defensive and Kate know it. She starts her questioning calmly.

“Dean. How do you think Sam should deal with your drinking?”

Unfortunately, Dean’s response is similar to Sam’s.

“Next question…”

Kate shook her head. “Okay, how could Sam keep you out of fights?”

_Again._

“Next question?”

“ _Dean!_ Alright, how should Sam keep you out of trouble with the law?”

Dean twists his lip, unwilling to lie or give in.

“I am not real clear on that one myself.”

“At least you’re honest. Should Sam physically punish you for breaking the law or should he consider other options?”

“Tell me, what are the other options?” Dean asks amused and intrigued. He’s being a wise-ass and doesn’t act like he gives a damn.

“Sam could: confine you, bind you, work you, or sentence you,” Kate asks directly.

“What is the sentence thing?” Dean’s smile is widening.

“That would be um…holding a position for an extended length of time, running laps, repetitive or time-sensitive tasks…”

Dean considers this and does not like the sound of it.

“Work me? Is that like a sex thing?” Dean asks with a tilt of his head, chuckling. Sam just shakes his head annoyed with a glare you could feel.

“No, Dean, that would be assigning a difficult task. Cleaning house, yard work, doing extra work.”

Dean’s shaking his head. A crinkle appearing on his forehead.

“Binding? That is definitely a sex thing right?”

“No, it would mean wearing a bond for some amount of time to remind you of your misdeeds. Wearing handcuffs to work, wearing a gag for the day, that type of thing.”

Dean does laugh audibly at that.

“Confine? I would be grounded?”

“Or locked up, leashed up, correct.”

“Huh, all of that sounds awful.”

“That’s the point,” Kate responds near flabbergasted.

“I’m an adult. Shouldn’t this just fall to me?” Dean asks leaning back in his seat, he’s cool but not for long.

“That would be true if your record was not Sam’s record. Since Sam has transferred ownership you have gotten into three bar brawls, two drunk in publics, four arrests, two escapes…not to mention… recent prostitution…”

Dean leans back, resting his head on the couch.

“Okay, I get the idea. Huh? Okay, Sammy can just take it out on my hide. That’s fine. It’s over quick and we can move on.”

Sam balks.

“What? _No_. Fuck that! That is just me doing all the work and you doing all the fucking up.”

Dean looked at his brother amused.

“You want to walk me around on a leash? That is way weirder.” Dean laughed.

“You could, huh? _Stop being a fucking delinquent_!” Sam responds louder.

“Nope, not happening. I have to be me,” Dean put his feet up and leaned back.

“The problem is you have no incentive to a member of society. You don’t want to get married…”

“ _And you do?_ And Sam! I can’t get married.”

“You don’t want to get a job…”

“I have a job, with Bobby, and it pays shit. You get 80% of it.”

“You don’t want to go to college…”

“Yeah, I hated school, I mean I love the school girls but other than that and you know, slaves can’t get degrees.”

“What am I supposed to do about this?” Sam asked the question to Kate.

“You are asking yourself the same question parents have been asking for centuries. You should establish goals, expectations, and consequences. Be consistent. Find something he enjoys and withhold it. Find something he doesn’t like to do and require him to do it… It is your decision.”

“Okay, I would like to have a goal for Dean to stop drinking, fighting and getting arrested. I expect when I go to school that he behaves. If he doesn’t? I beat him to a bloody pulp. There. How is that?” Sam asks tapping his foot.

“Too vague, no incentive, and you are not allowed to kill Dean if he misbehaves. Okay, now you need to replace some of the behaviors with other activities. Do you want to learn kickboxing? Karate?”

Dean cranked his mouth.

“Okay. I could try that.”

“Now, socially, you are going to have to replace Sam temporarily. You could volunteer, get work somewhere besides home, join a club, get a hobby, or go to church?”

“Lame, lame, lame... Sam are you sure about this law thing? Man. I miss killing evil shit. I do not know how I am going to do this. Without hunting, I am not a hero. I am average Joe, owned by my damn brother.”

“Dean, you do realize I am a house slave. I make the most of what I am given. I wasn’t given a lot.”

“I know I am a selfish asshole. What’s changed?”

“I think you are going to have to change or you are going to be miserable.”

“Can’t I just keep hunting? I could go under the radar. It wouldn’t be too hard. Could be back in time for these weird maintenance things. I could work with Garth?”

“How the hell are you going to keep out of the eye of the police? You realize that if they catch you they can just throw you on that block, bank the cash for the state and take a commission. You could be so far down the hole, Sam and Bobby would never find you again.”

“Maybe karate doesn’t sound so bad?”

“That’s what I thought. We’ll get this sent in and you’ll be one step closer to being done with this mess. I have to go boys, see you tomorrow.”


	23. Rustling of Feathers

  
_Sam really has no idea what Kate put in that report but decides she is quick enough to figure it out. The rest of the day, Sam spends on his laptop, writing emails, checking correspondence. Sam can’t return to school until the spring, which is fine. Gives him ample time to get things in order with Dean. The thoughts make his head spin, but it has to work. All of this makes Sam more impatient and short, but Dean does well._

_For Dean, Sam becoming more like Dad is just like putting Dad’s jacket back on. Dean just falls back into line but with it the want for mischief returns. Dean wants to test boundaries again, mouth off, drink a little more than he’s supposed to and slack off just enough to be noticeable._

_Doesn’t work well because Sam does backhand Dean, chew him out, threaten a beating or sale. No, Sam just looks at Dean dumbfounded and hurt. It’s worse. "Stop being an ass" is all Dean gets, that and Sam picking up his slack. It’s all very confusing._  
  
  
  
  
Dean's confusion multiplies when the world's grumpiest angel pays him a visit after closing time. Alfie hung up his tools fifteen minutes ago, leaving for the day. Dean told him to go early. Dean promised to clean up for the both of them. Alfie's son had boy scouts and Alfie was going for the first time that year. The smile the young man had was contagious. Alfie can do this because his new boss is far less of a slave driver, pardon the pun.   
  
Castiel found Dean unbuttoning his new blue uniform, balling the shirt in a wad, wiping the sweat from his brow for the tenth time that day, his body glistening from sweat and heat. Castiel just looked annoyed. The angel disheveled as ever, rumpled shirt, shaggy trench coat, and hand carding through a nasty case of bedhead.  
  
Dean groaned loudly, green eyes narrowing.  
  
“Cass, what are you doing buddy?  You scared the hell out me! Again.”  
  
Dean swore he saw a snarl form on the angel's lips.  
  
“Dean. We have to talk,” Cass stated, acting more twitchy than usual. The tension in his face was so high Castiel was almost blinking. Dean looked back at him exhausted.  
  
“Cass, I have no idea, what you want, but the answer is probably no.  Dude, my life is barely livable right now,” Dean sighed as he searched the workspace for the extra shirt he had on this morning... there it is--awe... fuck...  
  
“Dean. It’s the fate of the world. Why are you not interested?” Dean wondered if angels grind their teeth as he gave Castiel a quick up and down glance.  
  
Dean sighed again, _damn angels are so damn dramatic_. Dean looked at his shirt, pissed. Motor oil smudge. Probably his fault. _Damn Ozzy t-shirt does look like a damn rag_... Man! Blizzard of Ozz was a cool fucking album... Dean cranked his neck, almost too tired to have this conversation.  
  
“Cass, I am interested in not getting sold to an ass pirate,” Dean replied wearily.  
  
“I could simply move you to a country where slavery not legal, then would you be willing to help?” Castiel asked blankly as if that wasn't the solution to the problem all along...  
  
“Yeah, isn’t what you want me to do here? How the hell would that help? Are you taking your vitamins, man? You are not doing too good today..." Dean remarked, pulling a charming smile.   
  
“I am concerned that Crowley is wreaking havoc on the financial markets. The demon is now head of Lehman Brothers,” Castiel said blankly as Dean clanked tools back in their proper boxes.  
  
“Yeah, yeah, Ponzi schemes, hedge fund disasters, subprime mortgages, it’s all fucked up,” Dean was sorting the ratchets, barely looking up.   
  
“This could be a catastrophe! Dean, we are talking about hundreds of thousands of souls affected. Crowley is poised to take down the lot. The deals that will be made after this fails are going to run into the thousands,” Castiel moved closer. Dean wondered silently how rude he could be to an angel of the lord without tipping his own scales.  
  
“What do you want me to do about it?” Dean sang sarcastically, chuckling lightly.  
  
“You could stop him.”  
  
“Huh. I have never met him. You want me to go to Manhattan. Waltz into Lehman Brothers and what? Stab the CEO? Or would you like Sam to just give me to a workhouse? Cass, I can’t risk it. You have no control over my police record or anything else. How the fuck are you going to fuck with that many minds?  You don’t have enough power.” Dean was posed with his hands on his hips, shifting his feet.   
  
“I am considering an alliance with one of them. Which would you pick? Wells Fargo or Lehman Brothers.”  
  
Dean's eyebrows raised to that. The fate of the world... Given clumsily again to Dean Winchester's grease monkey hands... Not this time...   
  
“Huh? You should probably ask Sam. Giving hard-working people mortgages with ballooning rates or an investment firm that insures insurance on those horrible mortgages.  Both awful.”  
  
“Dean, I could zap you there and back. I just need a few days."   
  
“Cass, I have a discipline appointment with my handler tomorrow. Wouldn’t want to miss that.”  
  
“I do not understand if you are saying yes or no.”  
  
“No, Cass, _no_. Find someone else.  There has got to be someone more badass than me. Flash those wings and you are golden.  What about Garth?  There is a hunter named Garth who has skill.  He will totally take care of you.”  
  
“I raised you from perdition Dean!  I can send you back.”  
  
“Thanks for that. Not going to escape Hell only to create my own version with more ass play.”  
  
“You are very concerned with your bottom Dean.”  
  
“I have to get out of here so my uncle can get some play.... so? Get the fuck out buddy.”  
  
“I will leave you, but Dean. You are not doing enough to curry my favor.” Castiel scowled as he vanished.  
  
“Fucking Angels…” Dean said, making his way back toward the house. 

Bobby gave Dean and Sam marching orders for the evening. _Do not come home until after ten. Or Else._ Small price for the free room and board they have both been enjoying.  
  
  
  
A thick fall wind rustled through the leaves of that old maple on Bobby’s front lawn. The red and green leaves clinging tenuously, precariously twisting and swinging on the steady branches. But their fate is known to all. The beautiful pageantry all for show as another strong wind blew across the lot. A few lost their grip, drifting aimlessly about in the yard. Kate watched the scene, smiling easy. She couldn’t help that grin. She’d been waiting for this all goddamn day. The air so crisp and clean as she drew a sharp inhale. 

Kate smiled again as she noticed the black Chevy gone for the night. She rearranged her hair, looking herself over in the mirror. It soured her mood slightly. Mrs. Carver had been fussing at her all week for taking too long getting ready and spending too much time on her appearance. _It is not Godly to preen and primp so much and where is she going off to in the first place?_   Kate, used to finding ways around the old woman, did her makeup at the gas station. Kate spent some time with a fashion magazine. She arrived in a white eyelet dress she found at Sears with her cherry red choker and her black boots.  
  
  
  
Bobby smiles as he sees her coming up that dusty walk, looking her up and down, thinking she looks almost like a biker chick. But really she’s just pretty like this. Dolled up for him. Sweet like penny candy. Bright like sunshine after a summer rain. Her hair damp and curly from a shower, shining in amber hues from the setting sun. But really? Doesn’t matter what she’s got on. Doesn’t matter because as soon as she makes it in that doorway she’s taking it off anyway. She sits down on the floor, starting by unlacing those boots, then sets them neatly by the door. Kate hops up and heads for the stairs.

“Now wait!” Bobby hollers after he sees her dancing up those steps, struggling with the zipper at the back of that dress.

Bobby squints as his eyes narrow a little. Christ, he made a hot meal. She just smiles back and giggles a little.

Bobby’s looking back at her irritated, but she’s swaying those hips as that dress falls down her waist as she walks.  
  
Fucking hell, he’s no match for that! Bobby looks at the dinner he made, that he put time into and sighs. He surveys the kitchen as he pulls the green beans off the stove and feels the click of the burner turn off, obstinately setting down the pot on a trivet with a clank.

Bobby pulls himself back. What the fuck is wrong with him? A half smile pulls across his face. Fuck this, he tells himself. He leaves behind the hard days work in the yard, along with dinner he prepared with care and the table he set with real napkins. Leaves this behind and makes a slow climb up the stairs. Anxious and hesitant to see what's behind his door.

 

  
  
Bobby walks to his bedroom on wobbly knees, opening the door slowly, he stands there blank-faced and confused. _Not what he expected_. 

Kate’s down to her underwear again, it’s a tan set this time. A few shades darker than her olive skin. She looks like a goddess.  
  
Kate is propped up on her elbows, laying on her belly reading one of his books, he can’t see what she’s reading but she’s gorgeous like this. She laid out, the lines of her body sleek and going on for miles and miles, her bare legs kicking a little, idly. His breath catches. The long strings of her choker falling down the lines of her back, weaving in and out with those beautiful letters. The color matching exactly. She looks like an arthouse photograph. A beautiful mixture of olive, red and wavy brown hair tempting him as nothing has in years. Bobby feels his breath stop with a subtle gasp. 

In the back of Bobby’s brain, he knows she’s been trained. What he doesn’t know is she’s trying all those tricks she learned. The lights turned down low, but bright enough to highlight her muscles and near flawless skin. She's moving slowly with the precision and grace of a cat. Sensual and sleek.

Bobby can’t contain himself this time. His body remembers this particular situation, perking up to attention before he can think twice about it. He doesn’t wonder what she has planned. He doesn’t ask. Words so far away from what his body can do right he doesn’t even try. He watches as she slowly looks up from that book, eyes wide and watchful. Brilliant and clever without saying a single word. As she looks at him, Kate bites the side of her lip and lets it pop back, her eyes never leaving his.

If he could rub two thoughts together, he would wonder why she is looking at him like that. Why she looks so ready to take control and just as eager to give it. She’s measuring. Calculating. Doesn’t matter. That façade is so warm and so promising. It whispers, urging him to join her.

Bobby’s chin lifts high, he looking straight at her as she pulls herself up to her side. The movement allowing light to bounce and play off her breast and the flat of her stomach. He studies her face, her cheekbones high with full apple pink cheeks and dusty pink lips Bobby thinks about too much during odd times of the day. Her eyes are wide, almond shaped and with a gaze she habitually keeps too long, regularly making the subjects uncomfortable. But now? There is nowhere he’d rather those eyes be. She’s playing coy and he’s on the verge of realizing the game. Not that it matters. They lock eyes and electricity fills the space. The room hums with them in it. The baby fine hairs on her body refuse to pay attention and behave. Her body doesn’t want to act its part. It wants that man over there and chemistry is going to have a say in what happens tonight. The script she learned be damned.

Silence fills that old room until Kates lets out a broken breath, it hitches and she lets out a confused hum.

Bobby shakes his head a little. That does it. He knows who has gotten the upper hand now. A happy sneer plays on his lips, he feels about thirteen around her normally and now? He acts like a twelve-year-old who has gotten his first peek of a girl in her bra. Feels just as lucky too.

Then his eyes narrow, predatory and alert. He’s let her have the wheel, he waited his turn. He sat back polite and complicit. But he’s a just as much an animal as she is and someone just unhooked his leash. He can tell in her eyes that she’s ready. And lord have mercy, with the eyes he’s giving her, she better be. Because Bobby is a fair man. Always has been. For better or for worse, he repays his debts. May not be as cordial as one would hope or expect, but he repays his debts. Always in full. And he’s got a big one to repay that little woman in his bed.

You see there is that little issue written in red ink in his brain. Turnabout is fair play and Bobby plays fair. He’s just as generous as Kate and although she may have been to some fancy school that taught her how to give the perfect blow job, he’s been learning from the school of hard knocks for many more years, with a keen interest and high marks.

Bobby crawls slowly over to her on the bed, like a feral dog you need to approach slow and steady. He watches her every move. Knows she might change her mind and that’s fine. He just needs to be ready for it. She is hesitant. He knows that. Hell, he had his own first time, he just couldn’t wait for it start but he knows Kate’s waited her whole life for this. _Take it slow, Singer. Take it slow._

He looks deep into her eyes, “I can stop, Kate. Just say it. Tell me to stop…” He’s close to her now, his body flush to hers. He’s looking her up and down, hanging his head shamefully as his eyes flutter across her body.

But she doesn’t oblige his broken plea.

“I am not saying no if that’s what you’re hoping for…”

His breath returns with his smile.  
  
Bobby rounds her, moving with stealth to kiss her lips then make his way down her neck. Kate feels the rough bristles of his beard trace the long lines of her neck, up and down until another low hum escapes her lips. My God, she's in trouble now and fear almost causes her to pull away but she quiets it quickly. She's waited too long. Her lips started fevered kisses, deep into his neck until he hushes her. Pulling back, looking at her long and steady, she stills as he guides her onto her back.   
  
Bobby starts slow. He knows you start slow with a lady. You tease and tease every part of her till she looks like she can't see straight and then? Then you work your magic. Bobby's no warlock, but that magic he can wield with a steady hand. And edging someone to their tipping point is Bobby's favorite game.   
  
Kate's legs curl up and sway from side to side. She's nervous, she trying to hide it. He lays large warm hands on her thighs to ease they back down, her back arches in response as the kisses find their way down her clavicle. Kate's head is spinning and she can barely keep up.   
  
Bobby's cupping her breast with one hand, his mouth nuzzling the other, his left hand rubbing small circles into her thighs until Kate gasps like she's been under the bathwater too long. Kate's large eyes roll around the room searching for something stable to the lock onto, but they just find him. Bobby grounds again as their eyes meet again, giving her is his half smile that just makes things worse as she all but chokes again.   
  
Kate's heart is all but thumping out her chest, but Bobby's just taking his taking time. Easy, languid, gentle. Perfect if she's honest about it. Bobby's allowing her to grab at his strong back, run her finger up and down his body as long as she doesn't try taking anything off. He shoos off her hands easily, he means for tonight to be about her and she lets out a few frustrated cries but settles down as he really starts to work her.   
  
What Bobby's doing exactly she not really sure, there are finger sliding embarrassingly slick around what must be her clit because damn does that feel good. He's tonguing and suckling her breast with vigor and has another set of finger dancing around the other, giving it a soft flick in time with his tongue. It's unfair though. Because every time she gets close, those fingers and that tongue play a devious game of musical chair and flip their station. It'd be rude if Kate's legs weren't knitting themselves into a tizzy, her mouth gaping open with shameful drool peaking out her plump lips, mumbling strange incoherent verses. 

Then Bobby does it. The act she was assured, no master would perform on their slave. Kate all but skitters back to the headboard, banging her head for the effort, her legs clinched shut. Kate stares straight back at him like a spooked wild thing.  
  
Bobby just looks amused. He smiles, still beguiled by her. He raises his eyebrows just a bit and resumes his slow kisses up and down her thighs until she can't remember to be embarrassed or afraid. Her breathe coming so fast she barely has blood left in her brain. The only sound in the room is her low frustrated pants and whisper soft coos.  
  
Kate's body rattles and tenses, with every inch of her desperate for release, the tease almost torturous.  Bobby breaks her wall. Lets it ride until she starts her calling. The frantic and musical grunts that signal the build. Finally, Kate comes hard her hips buck without permission or signal into his clever tongue. As Kate comes, her vision whitens, vulgar and grateful noises are torn from her body. Bobby smiles deep and almost just as satisfied. He holds her close, well past the aftershocks, until her little body gives into sleep, curled in and entangled with his. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for this taking so damn long! If you are interested, my muse for Kate is Amy Acker. Because I love her. She is in a few of my other stories as the character she played on Supernatural, Andrea Barr.


	24. Them's the Breaks Sometimes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be prepared for discipline and lots and lots of drama....
> 
>  
> 
> That was a mistake. New chapter not ready yet but will be. Sorry for the false alert. :)

_The next week is whirl for Bobby. He hardly has time to realize Dean’s sliding down a sharp decline. It's hard to notice, with how fast life is happening. The shop getting busier. Kate is over almost every night. Bobby has no idea and doesn’t realize it until it’s in everyone’s face and none of them have a choice but to deal with it._  
  
  
For the most part, things appear to go fetchingly for Dean. Kate’s letting most everything slide. And that might have started the problem. She runs through her spiel and then asks each day to wrap up early. Dean can hardly blame her. Hell, he’s been in love before; a version of it anyway. 

It should be nice. It should make Dean feel better. Kate is not hard on him anymore. She smiles and giggles when he makes mistakes. She talks fast and tries to get everything over quick so she can make out with Bobby in the supply room of the garage. It’s wildly inappropriate but Dean and Alfie understand. Kate’s adorable and looks at Bobby like he's the last lollipop in the shop. The men both give each other a knowing glace and an amused shake of the head every time Bobby ducks out to 'find some extra tools.' 

Should be nice but Dean’s nightmares are returning. He’s sleeping less and less and gets so bad he's afraid to go to sleep. He's drinking more and more—secretly. Sam hardly notices because he’s brushing up on the law and trying to read everything so he will stand a snowball’s chance at Harvard. Sam is just too dizzy with fear and anticipation to see the mess his brother is becoming, though it's not as though Dean would ask for help anyway. He just never feels as worthy as anyone else. So he doesn't ask and things get worse.

Everything comes to a head one late September afternoon when Jason Krebs comes in to get his pick-up truck repaired. Now, Jason’s always been rough around the edges. He’s a stocky, short set man, thick block head, crew cut, even though he never served. The man’s been arrested more times than Bobby and kid’s only twenty-eight. He’s gruff, angry, and probably hasn’t been laid this decade: a time bomb. The arrests and jail time made it so Mr. Krebs could only find work down at the local gas station called the Kum and Go. Yes, Dean had already given the man hell for his place of employment with wild laughter and a half-hearted apology.

But that's really not the issue. Far from it. You see, Jason’s truck has a problem and it's not a small one. The thing’s engine is clattering like old pans put in the dryer. Bobby looked it over, called for parts, got an estimate and sent Dean in to talk to the kid because Bobby hates customers.

Dean explained everything, even gave Jason a lesson on how the engine works, saw his grief-stricken face and added cooly, " _Them’s just the breaks sometimes.._."

Jason just sets to balking at the cost of the repair. The man tugs at his hair, spouting a string of expletives. Dean just smiles, half amused-lazy and unsympathetic.

“Go ahead, I hear there’s one more shop in town,” Dean remarks smiling past the old cars into the sky. Dean just doesn't like Mr. Krebs. Doesn't like the cut of his jib, doesn't like the shine in his beady eyes, doesn't like the false bravado, his freeman attitude and doesn't have much patience for any of it anyway.

Jason’s face darkens. He can’t afford that but doesn’t have much choice in the matter. The man’s upper lip starts its sneer. Jason’s leans back into the chair in the makeshift waiting room, crossing his ankles as he cracks his knuckles, eyes narrowing, preparing to deliver some pain, anticipating with bated breath its effect.

“You know? I want to talk to someone else. Where the fuck is that old drunk, anyway? He’s probably got more sense than you, slave garbage. You here to suck off the other mechanics or just make the coffee, sweetheart?” Jason’s small eyes watch Dean, waiting for the jolt that just makes being cruel worth it. He doesn't have to wait long.

“See, I am going to let that slide, on account of the fact that you are an ugly redneck, _but don’t push me_.”

Dean's eyes went hard. Thank god Bobby made Dean lock up the gun while he's working. And that look has worked on demons bigger and meaner than Jason Krebs, but Jason's feeling lucky today: feeling like the youngest kid in a big family just before the family dog gets a good kick.

“Or what, Slave? Sure your master’d like to know how you’re behaving. Talking to a freeman like you're better than him... Probably whoop your ass good for it. So just go on, puppy. Go fetch him so the adults can talk, ‘fore I decide to have a little chat with him ‘bout your manners… _Trash_ …” Dean's bigger. But Jason's a freeman. He thinks that'll save him.

Dean's mind goes blank. He sees white and throws a fist into the wall so close Jason feels the air by his cheek, narrowly missing the pissed-off customer, the drywall cracking around the imprint. Jason looks at Dean terrified, eyes wide and startled, just like Dean's seen so many others when they face a monster. It sobers Dean to the point he pulls away, his anger fading as he realizes the gravity of the situation. 

"You don't get to call me trash, loser," Dean states blankly meeting the man's eyes, not willing to apologize, but not wanting to make it worse either. Dean's heart is beating into his ears as he walks out, but Bobby's heard the crash, comes stomping in after him. Dean hangs his head as he hears Bobby plead and negotiate a lower price for the repair so Jason doesn't call the cops.

Sam wasn't going to tell Kate about it. Neither was Bobby. It was Dean who ratted himself out.

Kate comes in the house beaming ear to ear, ready to start the day.

"So! How was yesterday? Is Sam going to join us? He's had a lot on his mind... What with everything going on," Kate asks, cheerfully pulling out a handout on polite body language and hygiene. She is drawing circles around the fingers of the drawing, opening her mouth ready to comment on the state of Dean's nails.

"I don't know what he told you, but that asshole had it coming!" Dean states as Sam drops his coffee cup into his lap in the next room, shouting "Shit!"

Now, whether that was related to the spill or the inevitable beating he fears Kate was set to give him we'll never know.

"What is God's name are you talking about?" Kate's eyes narrow, color flushing her cheeks. Her face easy to read. Not again. Seriously? _Not again_. Dean quickly defends himself.

"'S not like I punched him. I fixed the damn wall. What the fuck is the problem?"

"Samuel?" Kate calls out to the other room pissed. Sam walks into the living room sheepishly, head hanging low, eyes so fixed to the ground he almost bumps into an end table. "You want to tell me why this the first I am hearing about this? Was this a customer, Dean?"

"A redneck piece of shit of a customer, yeah."

"Sam. Outside. Now." Kate commands and Sam follows like the kid who threw the baseball.

Dean never does get the full story from Sam about that conversation but Sam comes in shoulders back, eyes steeled and angry like he rarely is. Kate's doesn't come back in. She's outside chiding Bobby for not calling her immediately. Dean can hear it from far away threw the screen door. Bobby's losing _that_ fight from the sound of his back peddling. _Shit._

"Upstairs, Dean. We have to take care of this," Sam's voice is cold, hard and serious. Dean gulps, tripping a little going up the stairs, heart racing a little, as he used to with Dad, stumbling over steps he's climbed his whole life.

Once in the backroom, Dean pulls together enough self-preservation to ask what the hell is going on. There's barely enough room for the two of them normally with all the equipment and the bed. Now with Sam so pissed? Dean feels barely able to breathe. Sam starts in leaning in and make erratic gestures with his hands.

"Dean. I am leaving. I have to leave. I have to go and leave you here with Bobby. What the fuck am I going to do when I am in school and you fuck up here? Do you know understand what would happen if that piece of shit had called the cops? Jesus. Why, Dean? Why?" Now Sam's just rubbing his head, unhappy and defeated.

"Sammy, he called me trash. What the fuck was I supposed to do, huh? Lay down like a bitch and take it? Should I have offed him a blow job, Sam?" Dean asks grasping for straws. Sam just balks at that.

"You dick. You do your damn job! That's what you do! What everyone does! I saw him! He wasn't a fucking monster you needed to shake down! He wanted his damn truck repaired. And! You lost Bobby money. You caught that, right? And you told her! Jesus, Dean. Now it's me fucking up, Dean! Right along with you. Taking the brunt of your shit. What do I have to do, Dean? Treat you like Dad did?" Sam's voice threatening.

"I just lost it is all. One time thing," Dean says with a sniff, almost confident.

"Well, your one-time thing got me written up. AGAIN. The next time, they just take Kate off our case. And you want to explain that to Uncle Bobby?"

Dean slumps to the bed and runs his fingers in and out of his hair. The guilt resurfacing, forming a pit in his stomach.

"She says you don't fear any consequence. She says you don't have any respect for me, Dean..." There is a cold defeat in his brother's voice Dean can't place and has never heard before. Dean feels chills ride up his spine, covering him with goosebumps.

"Sammy, of course, I respect you. You're my brother." Dean says honestly as he can. Dean knows he loves Sam like nothing in this world, but respect? As a master? He's not sure.

"Yeah, but I haven't been your master and Dean, maybe that's what you need," Sam's voice is growing louder and colder. Dean might not respect Sam's authority, but his brother is scary as hell right now. Dean's face pales. His head begins its slow shake no. He can almost taste what's coming next.

"Kate told me to take control. I think you need me to do it, Dean. I smell alcohol all the time. You don't want to finish anything that's not in the yard. I need to make sure you fall into line so this does not become Bobby's problem, Dean."

Dean looks at him slyly. Right. That is going to happen.

"I smell alcohol? You break the rules? You are answering for it." Sam said this plainly. Dean eyed him with a tiny smirk.

"Oh yeah? You're going to spank me? Or you just going to wail on me like Dad?" Dean asked sarcastically with a hint of apprehension.

"I am not going to let this happen again. And I don't know how else to do it!" Sam's voice quakes slightly. Dean feels the tension rise high in the room, he feels the fear creep in. His chest tightens.

"Sammy, you don't have to do this..." Bargaining—it works sometimes.

"I am not going beat you. I am going to correct you. Until this crap is over and our record gets reset. Two and a half years Dean. I can do it for that long. Or you could stop being a fucking child!" Dean can see Sam's face harden. He should have taken heed but just didn't.

"Dude. You can't be serious. You're going to do this? Each mistake? Get used seeing my ass..."

"Asshole. You have any better ideas because I'm out. This is the only one I got. Come on. Take off the jeans and we'll get it over with."

Dean starts to fiddle with his jeans.

"What's the number?" Dean asks not looking up.

"No number. Just you and me," Sam says plainly, arms crossed, leaning back on his heels. Dean balks at that.

"You are a sick fuck. Nope. Not doing this, Sam. And she's not going to check." Dean pulls up his cheeks amused. _This was so not happening_ , he thinks as he relaxes.

"The biggest problem is you don't recognize me as an authority figure. If you did, you'd be less stressed and get into less trouble. You're not getting out of this. So fucking drop 'em and let me do my damn job."

Dean squints a little, that was loud.

"Sam, I am not doing this," Dean says, digging in his heels.

Sam inhales and pulls hard at his hair in a large clump.

"Stay here," Sam commands, then turned on his heels and walks hard out the room. When he returns, Sam had a piece of paper in his hands.

"Tic Tac Toe? Hangman, Sammy?" Dean flashes his smile. Sam just glares back.

"No. An agreement. No more drinking, slacking, fighting, drugs, cursing in front of anyone, not Bobby or me and Intimidating anyone," Sam says as he writes neatly on the paper. "Sign it."

"What the fuck am I signing?" Dean asks crossing his arms.

"You fuck any of these up? Trip upstairs."

"Thanks but no thanks, Dad. Sorry. _Master_." Dean throws in some spite. No way was this happening. Though deep in the far corners of his mind, he feels trapped.

"Yeah, that is what is called open defiance. You want me to call Kate up here? You want me to call the Enforcement Officers? I am not about to threaten to sell you off and I am not about to force you to do anything, so consider your fucking options."

"You wouldn't fucking dare!" Dean says, shocked.

"If it causes you to not fuck off as much as you do, then yes. I will. I am not signing you over. You are my brother, but you are my responsibility and I am taking care of it. _Now, give me your belt, pull 'em down and grab the damn bar_." Sam's the last words are slow. The finality is hard to miss. Sam's hands tremble with rage at his sides. Dean hadn't seen Sam this pissed since Dad was alive. Dean hesitates as the words seared deep holes in his brain: the same language Dad used when they were in deep shit.

Dean crinkles his nose, fighting tears, a scowl set on permanent, rolling his shoulders, walking with purpose over to the bench. Mechanically, he slides his belt through the loops, pushing the leather into Sam's hands with a shove, Sam grabbing it out of Dean's hands coarsely. Dean turns around unbuttoning his jeans as they fall to the floor. Sam narrows his eyes as he attaches the straps tightly, Dean's expression turning to fear, feeling the blood drain from his face.

"You're getting this because of Bobby, Dean. Don't take advantage of him. Don't pull this shit again. Be very afraid I will do this each time."

Dean chokes on a whine. Sam doesn't acknowledge it, tapping Dean's ass several times, making this all the more humiliating, pulling back the leather, laying a bright red stripe, hard enough that Dean couldn't stay still. He jerks hard, his hands beginning to sweat. His ass already was on fire and it had not even begun.

Sam doesn't let up. Throughout this whole process, Dean remains silent, relatively still and composed until the very end. This time, his body fights as he wails and sobs. The belt beats down on his skin, shaking him as his own brother lays all his frustration in the blows, fast and hard, Dean loses count quickly, the tears pooling steadily on the old wood floor.

Sam can't care less, so blinded by rage, fueled by defeat and frustration, he takes it out on Dean's ass. The stress of making it at one of the most elite law schools in the country... after a three- to four-year hiatus? It keeps Sam up at night, too. As he lays stripe after stripe, Sam tells himself he knew what Dean could take. He had seen Dad do it so many times before... Until it is clear Dean can't take anymore. His body goes limp as he submits and pleads.

"Please! Sammy, please! It's enough, Sammy..." The words are sputtered and broken.

Sam has pulled back when he hears, thundering footsteps charge up the old steps. Sam stopped looked at the damage, the nest of welts, feeling guilty but still shaking with adrenaline.

Dean just mumbles over and over, sobbing, "I'm sorry, Sammy. I'm sorry..."

Sam steps back, dropping the belt to the floor, sober from his rage for the first time since Kate laid into him about his responsibility.

 

The door swung open hard, the door nob slamming the wall, cracking a hole in the wall.

Bobby stood there shaking hard, red-faced and livid. Bobby pushed through Sam, over to Dean who lay bound and weakened, tearful and still promising.

"I'll be good, Sammy. I can be good."

"Jesus Christ," Bobby stated as he forcefully tugged at the leather straps, freeing Dean. Bobby pulled up Dean's pants gingerly, pulling him in for a hug that lasted until Dean let go.

"Go to your room and take as much time as you need, son." As soon as Dean left the room hanging his head, Bobby lunged forward, grabbing Sam by the shirt and hauling the giant man out of the room, shoving Sam into his bedroom, almost knocking the tall man off his feet.

"I want to know what the hell you think you are doing! That is your damn brother in there! The only family you got!"

"I can't just leave him here to fuck up your life, Uncle Bobby! He's out of control!" Sam shouted back, attempting to defend himself, inching away as Bobby stepped forward invading his space, getting square in Sam's face.

"He's my damn employee, jackass! This is none of your fucking business! I already talked to him and if you had any goddamn sense, you would have asked about it! I can't believe you! You damn fool!" Bobby paused, shaking his head slow and disgusted. "Your Daddy would have been _so_ proud of you! Treating your brother like a punching bag."  
  
The words bit hard. Sam went pale as his heart stung and his stomach dropped. Tears formed in his big hazel eyes.

 _"I am glad you feel bad_. I have never been so disappointed in you!" Bobby all but spit the words.

"Now you get in there and fix this. And if I ever have to have this conversation with you, I will take Dean away from you. Probably should..."

"You're right. God. You're right..." Sam's words slow with recognition, solemn and repentant.

"You damn kid. Clean him up and promise to never do that again. And you won't. Not under my roof!"


	25. Goddamn It. I Have Held my Tongue.

  
  
  
  
  
Bobby storms out the house, his face red, nostrils flaring, eyes dangerous and vicious. Sam and Dean have commented, after a few beers, how pissed Bobby got when he saw John take a belt the boys. Bobby chased him out into the yard and shot the man's leg full of buck shot. But lord, Bobby might have been more pissed at that moment as he glared at that girl. He saw her as the instigator who incited this bloody mess. Mainly, because Bobby couldn't believe Sam would do that of his own volition to his only family. His only brother. Probably because he couldn't tolerate that kind of hurt on Dean nor he could tolerate the replaying of his childhood, minus the Vodka, in his own damn house.   
  
He sees Kate in the dusty yard. She's scratching her hairline filling out paper work, her hair blowing gently in the breeze. Bobby can't see it, barely sees her he's so mad.    
  
" _I have held my tongue. Goddamn it. I have held my tongue but this is too much!_ " Bobby his eyes trained on her in a piercing glare as he shouts. His voice booming.   
  
Kate cocks her head to the side, pulling back her neck, her big blue eyes narrowed in quiet shock.   
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"Sam, _the almighty master_ , just tried to beat the devil out of Dean up there! I am not going to stand here, while you scare the hell out of my boys into knocking the sense out of each other! I think you really outta leave before I really lose my temper! Might be a good idea for you take your _things_ with you."

Bobby puffs out his chest with his arms crossed like he's ready for a fight, looking at her like witch or some vicious thing he needs to protect his famly from. Kate just stares back, pain flashing in her eyes until she pulls herself back. The words stung, pulling at her heart then hardening it.   
  
"Huh? Did _your boys_ tell you I gave them options other than physical punishment and neither of them would agree to it? Did they tell if both of you can't get that boy in line, I have to send him to reform school? Where the first time that _boy of yours_ says no, shakes his head or doesn't move fast enough, he'll be beat so soundly he won't be able to stand up! They do it to the new slaves just so they know what to expect for misbehavior. I know I have seen it," she says with diction. "He'll come back so eager to please, just so no one _ever_ sends him back! I know what's out there. I know what will happen to me if I lose this job. And if you keep me from doing that job? I will sign him over to the closed obedience school just to keep him off that block! Because being sold off to a brothel, just because you couldn't keep _your boys_ out of trouble, is a worse fate!  
  
"And don't you think this the first time I have given this speech. But it is the first time I have given it to someone I care about."  
  
"Let me get this straight... All that equipment is there is for what? Hosting tea parties?" Bobby asked with sarcasm, leaning in still too pissed to listen to her.   
  
"No. No, it's not. It's there to establish authority, which neither of you have been capable of doing. Did they tell you Dean got arrested for prostitution? Did you realize if he gets in trouble with the police, they will sell him off as a criminal? The few rights slaves are given are taken away from criminal slaves. He'll sold off for menial labor, be ridden hard and put away wet everyday of the week. You think I am trying to scare you, _you're right_. _And Sam_. Don't get me started. He allows him to drink whenever he wants, curse with abandon, and sets no boundaries or limits. Neither do you! Both of you are so concern with treating him like a freeman, you aren't training him at all!"  
  
" _Excuse me_ for not wanting to beat a grown man, I guess _that_ would be _your_ job." That was a blow below the belt and Bobby knows it. Just doesn't care, his rage so high.   
  
"Bobby Singer. I have never judged you. Saw past everything, everyone in my life told me to avoid. By the way, what other job do you think I would be allowed to do?" She paused pushing a hand into her hip. "Now unless you want to keep me from my clients, I have to clean up this mess _your boys_ have gotten into. And you want to obstruct my ability to do that job, I will call my office, because at least he'll learn to behave. And he'd be better off than with masters who can't keep him out jail."  
  
Bobby's lips sneer like he's about to growl, but he lets her pass, pulling himself out of the way, swinging his arms and gesturing towards the front door.   
  
  
  
Kate charges upstairs, her black boots hitting the floor hard so they know she's coming.  
  
She finds Sam rubbing Dean's back, whispering apologies and pleas of forgiveness, red eyed and defeated. Sam's curled into Dean, his head under Dean's chin resting on his head on Dean's chest like they used to when they were kids. Dean's just staring blankly at the wall, rubbing Sam's shoulder in a vain attempt to quiet him. Kate bangs loudly on the door with her full fist, startling the two of them.   
  
"Sam. Your room. Now." Kate demands cold and loud.   
  
Sam and Kate enter Sam's room. She remembers seeing it before but this time it looks smaller and more bare. Simple baby blue bed spread with bare yellowing beige walls and a tiny nightstand. The bed's a twin and his feet must stick out from given his height. A sacrifice considering Dean's room with his bay window and full size bed. Kate shakes her head at the sight, but that is conversation for another day.  
  
"Sam, have I ever told you to beat your brother? Have I ever laid into him? Have I _ever_ tried to do anything but get you to take control of this situation? And you had better answer me!" Her voice has warning. Sam shakes his head peering out through his long bangs unable to look her in the face.   
  
"I know. I know. I fucked up. I just don't know what to do," Sam resigns.   
  
Sam is slumped over on the small bed, grabbing his hair in large chunks, pulling so hard it has to hurt. Kate just looks at him plainly. _He's just a client. He just needs help, Kate_. She tells herself this, but really she's too involved to be impartial.  
  
"You set boundaries. I have set everything in place for you! But you won't hold that slave accountable for damn near anything. You are so concerned with your relationship, you are not thinking about him! Do you want to send him away? If you want to sell him off, I could find a good master in a private sale but I cannot be responsible for what happens after that."  
  
"I just can't beat him anymore. He's been beaten down his whole life..." Sam looks up from his bed miserable and guilty.   
  
"Confine. Bind. Work or Sentence. For someone so smart you have a god awful memory!" Sam's brow furrows as he takes a strong inhale. 

"It's so demeaning. I can't Kate. I just...can't."  
  
Kate rubs her head again, a red mark forming.  
  
"This would be better if he were in a big house. If he had chores, consequences, and other slaves to commiserate with... You need to take him out. There is a slave bar downtown. You are going to have to drive him because you can't trust him yet and I am not even sure his license hasn't been revoked. You can sign him in and out. Select and pay for drinks before you leave. Some come by themselves, others are dropped off. I didn't suggest it because I didn't think he could handle himself, but at this point I see the problem is you.  
  
"Make the damn trip a reward for doing his chores. Try some positive reinforcement. Anything but the nothing you are doing. You better get your damn head out of those books and work for this or you _will_ lose him! Now I am here to help. You call me any time and I will help as long as I am not busy with my own chores. Now get your shit together. You know what? Take him out tonight. No more than two beers. And I've I find out you haven't, expect your own beating."   
  
  
  
Kate turned, walked out the door, leaving it cracked. She wanted him to hear this. Dean's door across the hallway.   
  
She opened the door and pulled out the chair at his desk watchin him as curled up on side, fetal and tight.   
  
"You want to tell me what happened?" She asks clinically with a hard look. Dean turned his head with a scowl.   
  
"My goddamn little brother beat the crap out of me and I can't do anything about it," Dean huffs looking numb, probably still trying to take in the situation  
  
"You are damn right you can't. Do you even realize what a burden you have become to that man? Because you won't accept your place. And you are damn right he beat you. If you get sold, you can expect a lot worse, so don't..." her voice is starting to soften, "Don't get up there, get trained and threatened to act like you like it, then face an auditorium full of people looking at you like a piece of meat. Just don't."  
  
"This? My life? It's not worth anymore..." Dean sniffs looking off at the gaudy red rose wallpaper Karen picked out for the room. Watching the patterns like they might hold some secret of this.  
  
"I know you've been through worse. I thought John Winchester was a decent man. A decent father. Hell, at least he kept you. I understand now he wasn't perfect and you grew up hard. But your past does not define you. As I said before, your problems are not with your Daddy they are Demons you are creating yourself. You have a loving master. Someone who is trying his best to keep you. And you repay him with rebellion against a system he didn't create. Dean, I have seen two situations in this job. You can be a grateful servant or an abused slave. It's too much power Dean. Too much to power to give even the gentlest master.   
  
"Sam is going to let you go out tonight. I am not going to lie. It's almost like daycare for slaves but you'll meet a few people who live it and almost thrive. See how you feel in the morning. You might have a good time tonight. Dean, I can't make him not beat you. But I can tell you he's less likely to do it if you don't stress him out."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 


	26. Children

  
  
  
  
The sun beat down on the lot. It was half an hour before the shop opened. The fall leaves were falling in masses. All windows in the house opened earlier that morning to air out the place. October in South Dakota signaled a bitter time and the boys and Bobby had been taking advantage of the Indian Summer. Taking advantage of it until they weren’t, they were solemn and pensive.

Sam knocked gently on Dean’s door before opening it.

The youngest brother sat on the bed, opening his big arms. Pulling Dean onto his lap. Dean complied accepting the hug. He curled into Sam. Sam's large chest beathing shallow. Sam stroked Dean’s hair with his long fingers. Laying kisses on his head. Dean cried. Sad and bitter tears. This was unfair. Terribly unfair, but he couldn’t pull himself away. He need this.

Dean’s ass throbbed. Ached and throbbed. Did he really deserve this? Dad had given him much more and more regularly but from Sam? He had wanted that beating for kissing Kate. Feeling he betrayed a trust and that was his penance. But this? Was he ever going to control himself? No way out. Dean always did something to get a beating. Just hadn’t with Sam. Not till that day in the shop. He was set to life whole life under the thumb of his brother. No. Not his brother. _His master._ The thought caused Dean to cry harder. Sam just wrapped his arms around him harder. Whispering “It’s only a couple of years Dean. I’m so sorry, Dean.”

Eventually the rise and fall of Sam’s breathe, his warm arms and gentle hands soothed him. But something else pressed hard into Dean’s mind. Dean’s window had been wide open. He heard the fight between Kate and Bobby. Sam’s words echoing in his head. “The first good thing to happen to Bobby since he killed his wife with a kitchen knife." He felt weak and numb, choking again. Didn’t sound like Bobby would take her back nor that she would even come back if he forgave her. He pressed deeper into Sam’s chest because there was no one else. Because the pain was so deep, he couldn’t stand it anymore.

Then there were the threats. Dean contemplated Kate’s words as Sam stroked his hear with long fingers. Whispering, “We’ll get through this. This isn’t forever.” But the promises fell on deaf ears, Dean barely listened, thinking so deeply about Kate’s words: they scared the hell out him. Yes, he had heard it all before. The atrocities, the mistreatment, the brutality, but never in the context of it actually happening to him. Yeah, Dad threatened him. But he never actually believed his fate would end there. Always believed there was someone who would look out for him. Save him from the life he chose to ignore for so many years.

Dean stayed in Sam’s arms until he felt over touched and pushed Sam slowly away.

“I’m sorry, Dean. I… I am just so sorry…” Sam’s words heartfelt.  
  
“Sammy, you don’t get to feel better about this. I trusted you. I know I cross lines. I always have. It’s what made me a good soldier and a good hunter. But you crossed one today… I need some time…”

“Just know I’ll never do it again, Dean. I swear,” Sam promised almost as if he could convince himself.

“You know? You said that before. You probably will again. You’ll do it because I deserve it. You’ll do because I need it. You’ll do it to keep me safe. You’ll do it because you love me. Because you’re at the end of your rope and nothing else works. But you’ll do it. But I will still love you. I loved Dad even when he took almost everything away from me. Even when he took you away.”

“All I can do is promise to make it up to you,” Sam said quietly.

“Can it, Sam. Just. Stop. I have work to do, I’ll forgive you like I forgave Dad. Like you forgave Dad. But I need some time, man.”

Sam’s eyes burned and swelled from the tears. Jesus. Bobby was right. _Sam was just like Dad._

 

Bobby fumed in the yard. His body still shaking until he bring himself down. Then his heart felt heavy again. Like he lost something precious. Something he couldn’t replace. He leaned up against an old van, knocking his head of few times and then pushing off it. He headed toward the house, tasking Alfie to run the yard and take in cars as Dean was in no shape to.

Bobby banged his fist on the banister. “Sam! Get your ass down here before I come get it!”

Sam trudged down the stairs.

“Bobby. I don’t know where to start…”

“What’d she tell you, boy? And why’d you listen?”

“She told me to correct him. She told me this was serious and if the police were called again, she couldn’t protect him…”

“Son. What’d I do when you and Dean almost burned down the garage? Did I beat you like John?” Bobby cocked his head to the side, narrowing his eyes, pulling up his chin.

“We um… fixed the back fence and um…”

“You painted the garage didn’t you?”

“Bobby this isn’t us being dumb kids… This is serious. He’s not just going to jail. He’s going somewhere worse. And even if I graduate from Harvard Law, there’s no guarantee we would ever find him again.”

Bobby rubbed his hair back and forth, the full length of his head.

“I guess she’s trying… But I wish there were another way. It’s not like the beatings John gave him ever made a lick of difference anyway. Just kept him scared.”  
  


Dean shifted in the passenger seat of the giant black Chevy, Sam barely able to look him in the eye. Sam pulled into the near empty parking lot of Callaway's. Few slaves allowed cars. It made sense.

Dean looked the place up and down disgusted. Narrowing his eyes at Sam.

“Just try it Dean. If you need me to come back, just call.”

Dean bit his tongue as they walked up to the place, a pretty girl at the window of some kind of ticket booth.

“Have you ever been with us? Don’t recognize you,” she said sweetly.

“No. First time,” Sam said nervously.

“Alright, no problem. Just meet the boss in his office."

The office, which was labeled "Office" was full of papers and looked like the backroom of a packrat. Walls of files, and stacks of papers littered every surface. A serious man with a ring of grey looked up from his glasses.  His fingers yellow as he sorted through papers on his desk, a cigarette burning in an bottle green ash tray at his side. 

“He registered?” the man asks pulling some forms from a pile, securing them to a dirty clip board..

Sam nodded double quick, pulling out his wallet and giving the man Dean’s registration papers.

“He’ll be fine, Sir,” the man says blankly. “No one misbehaves on Darrel’s watch…”

Dean looked back to Sam annoyed. _Why the fuck were they here?_

“Fill out these forms. There’s a $15 dollar cover fee for the night, we close at 11. Some masters allow alcohol. Some don’t. Here’s a drink list.”

Sam handed the drink menu to Dean, who took it roughly out of his hands selecting Guinness times two. Sam handed the man cash.

“Lemme see the mark. Don’t worry, only have to look once. Some of the locals try to get in and fuck with the patrons.”

The older man pointed two fingers to the ground, the universal signal for kneel here. Dean complied quickly, bowing his head so the man could finger the mark. He looked making sure it was a tattoo and not dye or marker.

“Good. Go on it, son. Have a good time,” the man waved a hand the other door in the office. He then pointed to Sam. “You can’t stay. We’ll call your cell phone we need to.”

Sam nodded again, feeling like the mom that drops off her kindergartener for the first time. Probably looking like it too.

 

Dean had better luck. Dean strolled into the bar, givinge it a once over. It was nothing like he was used to. The music was low. Couches were everywhere. An old pinball machine beeping away, an old pool table in the back. It looked like a rec center with beer.

Dean holds up his drink ticket with two finger looking at the bartender. He comes over and takes it, making eye contact. Dean assumes this is Darrel. Darrel is a big bald man with thick shoulders, neatly trimmed mustache, deep lines around his eyes from too much drinking or hard living. He puffs out his chest, putting both forearms on the bar, staring hard at Dean. Dean pulls back his neck, hoping this is not a fucking demon because he brought no ammo what so ever… Darrel pulls his neck to the side in a sneer.

“Haven’t seen you before. You need to know the rules. No fighting, horseplay, or messing with the other slaves. You follow my rules? We won’t have a problem. You dare step out line? I haul your skinny ass to the back room, call your master, and paddle the daylights out of you. Only going say that once. You understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” Dean says with a wince, opening his eyes wide. Jesus. Why the fuck did Sam leave him here? Better fucking stay on this dick's good side, because after Sam’s beating? Dean’s really not looking to get it again.

A pretty girl approaches the bar, waiting for the bartender a foot away from him. Dean smiled flashing his best smile. She smiled back turning her attention to him. God, she’s pretty. Long brown hair, large brown eyes, pulp pink lips, high cheekbones and perfect skin. And Dean’s pretty sure she’s checking him out.

“You’re new,” she says smiling.

“Yeah, guess there’s no hiding that. You must not be. New I mean.”

“You new to this? What’s your story?” she asks pulling her hair to the side. Touching her hair—Good sign thought Dean.

“I’m Dean. And nope. Just new in town. You come often?” Dean asks eyes trained on her. She’s totally mine—Dean thought smiling to himself.

“You are kind of a player, aren’t you?” She asks with a smile. “Not really how it works here. Get comfortable. Get your feet wet and then maybe we can talk. Let me introduce you around.”

Dean moves his jaw to the side, inhaling. Jesus, he thinks. Sonofabitch… Can’t catch a goddamn break.

“Can I at least get your name?”

“Jenna.” She states grabbing his Guinness and her light beer.  
  


“Boys. This is Dean. The noob,”  She guides him over to a table full of men anywhere between twenty to thirty somethings, most turn with interest. Dean hates it. Never liked standing out or being the center of attention.  One of the guys in particular looked to be the center of the crowd. High forehead, beautiful long brown hair, tan in the middle of South Dakota and was a slave. Probably a kept one. 

“Come on over. Join us.”

Dean smiles weakly and takes his drink and a seat, his eyes pulling up slightly. Sammy did get him good today…

“You’re hobbling. Don’t worry. Happens to the best of us. Tell us your story.”

Dean shoots Jenna a death glare, she gives a motion to keep talking. “Not much to tell. Sold off as a baby.”

The man smirks. “What do you do? You’re handsome so that leaves a lot of jobs open. My master is rich bitch who demands a lot of boot licking and bowing. We are not shy here.”

Dean’s confused by the honesty, replies:

“Boring stuff. I’m a mechanic for my uncle down at Singer Auto…” he says, actually glad for his lot for the first time in months.

For the next two hours, Dean nurses his two bitter beers, laughs and actually has a decent time. Might be one of the first decent times since Sam got accepted to Harvard.

 

9 AM Sioux Falls, South Dakota.

Kate came back Monday morning, in her hands a large manual.

She rapped on the door, Bobby answering it, looking guilty as a wanted man.

“Bobby. You calmed down enough to listen or do I have to ask you leave?”

“No need for that. Come on in,” Bobby said, backing way to give her space.

Sam, Bobby and Dean filed into the living room. Dean staring off at some macro may tree that Karen had bought years ago. The paint faded around it, looking miserable, sitting uncomfortably on his knuckles.

“Alright. I have thought about this situation and clearly it is not working at all. I am used to working with masters who abuse and over discipline their slaves. I clearly used the wrong tactics. I am glad we have made some progress. Dean is schooled on the specifics but the relationship you have with you master is unique. While there is no manual on family, there is one on lovers and bed slaves,” she said holding up the manual.

The entire room got silent and still. _What the fuck?_

“Children. Grow up. I am not suggesting incest. I am suggesting gentler correction. A focus on positive reinforcement. Sam, what did you do with Dean when I came over? You had to have been gone for some time. What were you doing?”

“Uh…” Sam looked guilty. Again. “I uh, read and studied in the bar and let Dean entertain himself.”

“What did you do Dean?” Kate asked Dean, already annoyed at Sam’s answer.

“Played phone games… Not many girls want anything to do with a slave. The mark gives me away… just stopped trying…” Embarrassment riddled in Dean’s voice.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sam asked confused.

“You’ve been busy. You’ve been working hard like the damn montage for Legally Blonde…”

“Legally Blonde, Dean?”

“Shut up… You liked it.”

Kate put both elbows on her knees and rubbed at her hairline.

“DO NOT Change the subject! And you wonder why he’s depressed and oppositional? Alright. You need to spend more time with him. Jesus. I can’t believe I did not see this before,” She said pointing a hard finger at Sam. “And you? I am not even sure what to say to you… No one can survive like this. Both of you!” Kate pointed another hard finger to Bobby and Sam. “ _I will not allow you to abuse this boy_. Do you realize you work him hard and ignore him? Jesus. _The selfishness._ Both of you. _Do Not Touch_ this boy until he is given a stable environment.” Kate gives the floor a hard stomp.

“You’ve been at very least giving him his bath. _Correct_?”

Sam’s face was red at this point, he pulled back his neck, shaking his head in quick shakes.

“I would try and beat some sense into you if I thought it would do any goddamn good. Two hours. One with you and the other with you! You log it or I will fine you fast and assign you classes. Play cards, take a walk, cook dinner with him, talk to him… _Goddamn it_. Why am I having this conversation?

“Have you looked at him recently? He looks like he doesn’t sleep… he’s skinny as a rail. And Sam? A correction is not a beating. You are not _saving your Uncle Bobby_ from anything by beating the tail off your brother!”

Bobby can’t even look at her straight. He’s chewing his lip and looking off.

“Oh great! _You are embarrassed now?_ How many hours is he working Bobby? Do you even know? Because I have seen him put down tools at 10 at night. _Tell me he is not working a twelve-hour shift…_ No wonder he doesn’t want to do chores. _This is sick boys_.”

“I am so sorry Dean,” Bobby says looking at him, heartfelt and sincere. “Why didn’t you tell us, kid?”

“S’ okay Bobby. You both just seemed to making it. Finally. I am just along for the ride. Trying to help out as best I can…”

“For men who can’t seem to accept the fact that Dean is slave, you sure have a problem seeing him as a goddamn human being!”

“YOU. Go give him a bath. And I don’t care if you refuse _to handle his balls or jerk him off,_ but you better talk to him or at least explain everything you’re doing. Both of you better hustle!” Sam and Dean left quickly to book it up the stairs.

“You!” Kate points at Bobby. “You had better have an apology ready or _I_ just might lose my temper.”

Bobby just nods a little. Wide eyed and a little terrified.

“You know? I tried hard to figure this out. I tried hard wondering why nothing I did helped. I wondered why you blamed me for this. Do you see? I am doing my damn job and _if that hurts your feelings_ than maybe we don’t belong together.”

“I didn’t know. I just… there’s not an excuse… I just don’t like the corporal punishment… I don’t believe in it,” Bobby says to the carpet. 

“That boy wouldn’t need it if any of you had followed any of my instructions! I got too involved. I didn’t see what was in front of my face. Bobby Singer, you are bad for me.” Her glare was hard.

“Suppose you’re right…” Bobby says looking off.

“You really are a jackass. You’re giving up?” She asks plainly. He looks back skeptical.

“Should I not?” he asked with a squint.

“Tell me I’m you’re sorry so we can get to the making up.”

“I’m sorry?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Callaway's and Kum and Go are actual establishment in Sioux Falls. Because realism. And I was bored.


	27. The Lunch Date

  
  
  
9 AM Sioux Falls, SD  
  
  
  
The next week at Bobby Singer’s house runs smoother than it has in months. Dean is happier, Sam is happier, Bobby’s singing again. Kate spends only a few nights and not for very long to give them all time to get closer. It’s getting cooler and the tree are getting bare. Only a few more weeks until Kate is off their case. Kate pleased with their progress, writes glowing reports. Dean is talking more to Jenna. Her situation is worse than his but finds time to see Dean a few times a week. They are just talking, but that's okay. It's kind of nice.  
  
On one of the final weeks, Kate announces that it is time to test Dean and take them all out for lunch. Practicing social interactions. She comes in nice black dress, her hair pulled up, and even leaves her boots home for the occasion. But she's still got that red choker on, her nails red and neatly trim. She's been waiting for this. It's kind of like her first date with an actual boyfriend. She's got a spring in her step and knocks the door with a beat. Bobby opens the door smiling. Last night was near perfect. Fevered and beautiful, honest and loving. Their in love and it's showing.  

Kate mentioned the lunch to Bobby last night, post coital so she’s not sure he remembers so she reminds him again.

“I remember Doll…,” his reply.

She beams bright, Kate loves it when he calls her Doll.

“We are going to Charlie’s down by the falls in downtown Sioux Falls. I take clients there regularly. The lunch crowd peters out at one thirty. The place should be near empty. You won’t have to worry about making too many mistakes, Dean.”

Dean looks at her queerly, like he was going to fuck this up. He’s been lying since he was four years old. He can play slave.

Kate looks at him with a slight shake of the head.

“This is important, Dean. _It’s our last test_.”

Dean nods wearily. This was going to _so much_ fun.

Kate spends the morning going over how to behave in public, Dean hates it but takes notes at Kate’s behest. Kate makes Sam take notes too.

“Do not order anything complicated. Do not order off the menu. Do not order alcohol. Keep things simple today. Do not start conversation. Do not look anyone in the eye. Do not touch Sam. Sam… if you give an order, make sure it is followed to the letter. There is no room for error here. I use this establishment because it has a room to take Dean if you need to correct him. If this happens, Sam will ask Dean to meet him in the janitor’s closet. Pretend to hit him, just don’t make too much noise… There is a $75 fine for that….” Dean inhales.  
  
"I get it. I get it. Don't fuck up..." Dean smirks. 

“Yeah, yeah, okay, please number one, let Sam lead. Number 2, do not stare, confront or talk to anyone, Sam will talk for you or ask you questions. Number 3, do not touch, correct, or directly look at Sam. Number 4, tell Sam what you like to eat, when he asks. He will decide what you can eat and not. In formal settings, in very nice restaurants, slaves typically eat in the kitchen. If Sam gets your order wrong, eat it anyway. Sam will ask you if like your food, you will say it I am grateful to my master, thank you or yes, it is good.”

“That is crazy, I have to eat shit food because he ordered it.”

“Dean. These are the formalities. Dean you make a lot of eye contact. You are not allowed to do that in public with your master. Especially to him. You understand me? If you screw any of this up, there will be mess of chores to do.”

Dean looks away, rolling his eyes. Then looks confused. “How do I talk to people without looking at them? And they are going to know I am talking to them how?”

“One way is that you will not speak until spoken to. I am also a slave. In public, I am not allowed to address a freeman. I must also keep my eyes cast down. You should just follow my lead. You really should be careful. Any freeman can take hand to you if your master is not around.”

“SO… Sam could have taken a hand to you?” Dean pulls back his neck, his eyes wider with recognition. “You shouldn’t have hit him!”

“Technically, any freeman can take a hand to me. But Sam signed paperwork that says that he will only discipline me in public. Any other discipline has to be reported to the bureau.”

“Soooo… Sam could have taken any of those things upstairs to you. But he would need to report it to your boss… so you could get formally reprimanded?”

“No one can say Dean Winchester is not clever,” Kate smiled almost laughing. Almost no one had ever seen through her loophole.

Sam looks hard at her. She just smiles. “But technically? I am required to do whatever I think you need to get the job done,” Kate said with a laugh.

“So he could do it now?” Dean asks amused.

“I would like to see you try,” her voice was taunting and coy.

“I would say no, Sam. You would have to get through me,” Bobby said more than a little angry.

“Alright then! Let’s go have lunch?” Sam said quickly.

“I think that is more than a good idea, Sam,” Bobby warned.

 

Dean rides with Kate at her request. The ride is bumpy and the suspension is crap but Dean’s quiet about it. He figures she has some sort of talk and he’s going to have to sit through it. She starts in keeping her eyes on the road. “Dean,” she says softly, pointedly. “This is going to be hard on Sam and Bobby. They see us as equals. We’re not. But it does not have to make them feel bad for their position. Remember this is a formality they have to accept. Let them accept it. They are going to want to break the rules. Don’t let them.”

“You believe this crap don’t you? You believe Sam and Bobby are more important than both of us?” Dean asked, both hands on his legs, face locked in disgusted surprise.

“Yes. I believe the crap I was ordered to teach you? Is it fair? No. But what I have been trying to teach you is to live inside the barriers. Don’t fight them so hard. You are just fighting Sam, not the system.”

After Kate parked the car, they entered the restaurant.

Charlie’s was a decent sized restaurant with table clothes, two glasses and two forks at every place setting. It had the feel of a hunting lodge. Great wooden support beams, exposed red brick, a few mounted elk and moose. Formal. Moderately expensive. Kate had handed Sam her company credit card. This meal was comped by her agency.

Kate smiled at a waitress with a gold colored nameplate inscribed with Molly. Molly's pretty with short cropped hair and a small frame. She smiles back knowingly, looking Dean up and down. As she turned to take them to their table, Dean saw Molly’s insignia on the back of her neck. Most restaurants these days had slaves for most of the wait and kitchen staff.

Kate was right, after one o’clock on a Tuesday? Not much of a crowd. An elderly couples and a few men in suits, but other than that, empty. Kate took her time getting to the restaurant so that Bobby and Sam would get there before they did.

She and Dean took a seat. Kate looked at Bobby with covert sly smiles. So much to cause a blush to cross the older man’s face.

Sam loomed high above everyone else at the table. Normally a shy man, today he slips into his role seamlessly. Dean looked back at his brother with utter amusement.

“What do you usually get, Kate?” Sam asked from behind the menu, politely. Kate smiled.

“I always order the Waldorf salad and a cup of the soup of the day unless it’s chicken noodle or Fiesta because mine is better. On both accounts.”

“How often do you come?” Sam continued.

“When my clients reach a point where they can be in public. This is also Mrs. Carver’s favorite restaurant. We have been coming for years. She knows the owner. My master takes me out once a month if I have finished the monthly chores. I usually am good about them but December always throws me.”

Kate eyes a man who has been moving in and out of the tables for some time. His voice is robust and confident. He sounds like the owner; he is too smartly dressed to be a waiter. Dean notices Kate’s discomfort. She seems to be bracing herself for something.

Dean wonders if Kate and Bobby have talked about this place because his uncle is clearly uncomfortable also.

 

 

The man put an unwelcome hand on Bobby’s shoulder. Bobby turns with a wince, being a man who enjoys being touched at all.

“Bobby Singer, it has been a while old man!” the man bellows.

“Intolerable prick. You watch who you are calling old. We graduated the same year... You still running this place into the ground Tim?”

“Trying to Bobby. I must apologize for my staff. I’ll have a talk to Molly. You haven’t been served your drink. For an old friend, I have some top shelf bourbon under the counter. I’ll be right back. What are you doing with these children Singer?” the man shifted in his shoes.

“Water’s fine, Tim. These are my nephews. Sam and Dean Winchester.”

Tim squinted hard. “You on hard times again, Singer? Wow. I can’t remember the last time I saw you outside of fifteen without a drink in your hand. Like father like son, I guess. Don’t worry old man. I’d love to by a drink for an old friend.”  
  
“Why don’t you mind your own damn business… I fine with water Tim.”

Tim was a broad tall man with a red beard, red nose, a slight potbelly and a full head of salt and pepper brown hair that formed a formidable widow’s peak. Bobby had known the man since high school. The two never really got along, not enemies, not friends, both just sharing a mutual distaste for the other. Bobby never did care for bullies.

Tim took over ownership of Charlie’s twenty years ago after his father passed away from a heart attack. Ethel, Tim’s mom, called him home from South Dakota State his junior year. Tim ended up with a local girl named Barbara.

“I quit Tim, thank you…” Bobby’s reply cold and blunt. Tim just raised an eyebrow and smirk a little.

“You’ve got our little Katy with you! Mrs. Carver would not like the idea of you stepping out with these boys, Katherine…” Tim said lowly.

“Tim, it’s complicated and none of your damn business…” Bobby said annoyed and bristling.

“Huh. Well it’s always good to see you girl. You know Kate’s been coming here since she was thirteen,” Tim patted Kate’s head in the manner on would do to a small child.

Kate’s face flushed and she looked to fighting pulling her head way the pets. Kate watched Bobby’s jaw work at his teeth while Tim spoke. He was always such a damn asshole.

“You know, Kate was not always the good little girl she is today. I remember Mrs. Carver coming in with her so often and getting so tired of pulling her out back she demanded I clear out that Janitor’s closet. But I had to start charging Eileen $75 because this little girl made such a fuss about her whipping.”

Kate’s face fell from blush to full tomato.

“My how things change… Which one of these boys is yours?” Tim asked turning to Kate again.

Kate cleared her throat, smoothing her hair, attempting to calm herself.

“Mr. Edgar, I am here on business. My office has a contract with this establishment.”

Tim looked blankly at the party. A small light went off in his brain.

“You bought a slave, Bobby?”

“No you fool. I’d never do that. I repeat. It’s none of your damn business, Tim.”

 “This is interesting, Bobby. Normally Kate comes with a slave and their master. Why you here?” Tim asks pulling up his lip. Bobby just glared back. “Just behave Katy girl. Wouldn’t want to see you back in that closet…” Tim smiles, looking her up and down. Kate’s hands start to shake as she pulls a water glass to her lips. Bobby put a hand on her shoulder.  
  
“You always suck an dick, Tim? You want us to leave or do you think you can stop being such a damn asshole?” Tim’s eyes widen with surprise, he raises his eyebrows and smugly walks away.

 

Molly came by with a small pad in her hand. “What’ll you be having today?”

Sam ordered from himself, Dean and Kate. Bobby ordered and when she left, Sam and Bobby looked at each other. There was an unfamiliar silence.

“It’s mighty quiet without you jabbering on,” Bobby pointed a glass at Dean. Then turned to Sam, “You found anything out from those schools, Sam?”

Their food came. Dean ate the burger happily, he kept his nose clean and his face down. Kate concentrated on her salad and pushed the contents of the soup around debating whether it was worth trying.

Both Dean and Kate both uncomfortable in the silence. Even in the on long trips, Dean would sing to fill the quiet. Kate liked to know the person next to her was not coming up with a reason to be angry or inflict some kind of pain. Kate enjoyed being alone and quiet. When she was with Mrs. Carver, quiet time was usually followed by a reason to fetch the cane, a reason she should go to bed early, or a reason she should undress. Dean felt the same. Quiet time in his family, meant time not being well spent. A lively conversation could get him and Sammy out of PT (physical training) or skills work or cleaning or a very painful one-sided conversation. These discussions, mostly held with pants and shorts below the knees, tended to focus around the merit of not calling too much attention to oneself at school, how important it was to keep an eye out for his little brother, following orders do something correctly.  
  
Sam and Bobby loved to be quiet. Bobby did not see the need to say anything that was unnecessary. Quiet in Bobby’s home meant his dad was gone, asleep, or passed out. Sam loved for the attention to placed elsewhere and the need for participation to be at a minimum.  

  
  
She pulled into the yard that night. Kate The customers were gone as was the black Chevy. She smiled as she applied a cherry lip-gloss. Kate doesn’t know if he likes it but she reasons it won’t be on long anyway. She pulled her hair, still damp from her shower, back to a tight ponytail. She took a deep breath and told herself ‘You only live once.’ It was Friday night. She did not have to be home until midnight. Or later if she could stand the licks.

Bobby opened the door to greet her but she walked past him and sat down on the couch.

“Bobby, I have to talk to you.”

Bobby looked around the room and then nodded with concern, “Okay?”

“Bobby, I am not getting any younger. I am 32 years old and I have never had sex and I would like to…with you.”

Again, Bobby looked around the room, his lips pull in and he smiles, said, “Okay?” Then he took a minute to consider. “Kate, I am not prepared for this, I do not have condoms…it’s been years, since I kept condoms.”

“Mrs. Carver had me fixed, Bobby. I can’t have children. I am not supposed to know, but I read it on my medical chart. They took my appendix out. I can only assume they did it then.”

“Oh! Oh, my God! That is it! I am going to kill that bitch! I have kept my cool long enough. I know how to hide a body, Kate. If there is anything I know it’s how to get away with murder…” Bobby’s fists were clinched and his eyes narrowed. Then Kate placed a hand on his face.

“Love, without Mrs. Carver, I go on the block. I need her Bobby. I need her healthy and strong until I am not a desirable slave. Bobby, she had me trained in discipline, sex, and kept me away from the world. I would go a lot of money to very bad people. Just be with me tonight. Can we be happy that I can’t give you a disease, you can’t get me pregnant but I can love you, Bobby. And you can love me.”

 

These words are hard for Bobby to hear. His rage turns to pity as he looks at her. He shakes himself back. Kate doesn’t want that. He can see it in her eyes. She wants him to man up and do what she asks. Because she wants something and wants it from him.

He tells himself it’s because she asked. He tells himself it’s because she’s pretty and all but tearing off her clothes again. He tells himself all of these things but really it’s because he loves her. He can’t figure how it happened so quick, but it did.

Bobby loves her because he was a worthless cuss before she stepped through that door. Bobby loves her because she took one look at him and never took her eyes off him. His heart skips when he thinks about the fact that she’s twenty years younger. That, were she not a slave they never would have met. Bobby’s heart sinks because he has been well aware of the fact that Mrs. Carver would have no reason to buy her if he hadn’t killed Karen. Bobby’s guilt comes back in waves and there’s hesitation spelled on his face.

Kate just smiles and kisses him. She’s just happy to be there. Which is ridiculous. Kate’s lips are pinching his slightly. Her lips then brush lightly against his. The spark returns and he can’t let go. Bobby’s hands are on her slim hips, tighter than he thinks is appropriate. This girl is his and he’s not letting go.

But Kate pulls back. She looks him over.

“You think that’d be okay?”

Bobby gives her a wide-eyed upward nod.

Kate smiles wider than Bobby thought she could.

“HOT DOG!” Kate hollering like someone told her it’s ice cream for dinner. She’s peeling off her clothes and prancing up those stair again.

Bobby cranks his neck to the side, his eyes still wide. Bobby doesn’t know who he got himself into this, but fucking hell is he glad he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Too much information in the comments.... Read at your own risk.
> 
>  
> 
> Also... If this work is too upsetting for you... You kinda hate reading it... Just don't read it. I am cool with it. All criticism is welcome. I freaking love your feedback. I don't monitor comments so you'll feel free to say whatever you want. But if it's just hate mail? Maybe look for another story.


	28. 9:30 Sioux Falls, SD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentines Day! 
> 
> This chapter is kind of downer if you might want to wait till tomorrow to read it.

  
9:30 AM Sioux Falls, SD  
  
  
  
  
The fall mornings moved in and sent a cold breeze through the old house. Everyone in the house overslept, soundly snug tight in their beds. Bobby felt a chill as he wrapped himself tighter in the plush bedding. He looked to his side, half expecting Kate to be there. Of course she wasn’t, still hell of a night. Well, she’d be over soon. Maybe he could convince her to stay for lunch. Just aching a little for her. He smiled as he pulled himself out of bed and into the shower, whistling as he shaved.  
  
Then Dean got up. Dean made his way drearily down the stairs, on his way to make a pot of coffee. As he walked down the stairs, his eye caught a peak of something lacy and black hiding in the shadows of the staircase. His eyes bulged wide and a giant smile crossed his lips. Dean cried out:

  
“Oh my God! These are not from me! Damn Bobby! Sam! Sammy! Bobby totally got lucky last night!”  
  
Bobby thundered down the stairs, pissed as hell:

“Dean! You better shut the fuck up before I beat you into next week!” Bobby yelled. Dean just smiled knowingly.  
  
“Sorry, Bobby. You need these?” Dean smiled holding the panties by a finger. Bobby snatched them out of his hands, shoved them in his pocket and then paused. He stopped cold.  
  
“Dean, what time is it?”

“9:30. We have 30 minutes before the shop opens. Might have some keys in the drop box though. Want me to check?” Dean said looking into his old Timex.

  
“ _Where is Kate, Dean_?” Bobby asked slowly, very concerned.  
  
“Oh, shit,” Dean said eyes wide open.  
  
“Can you please watch your damn mouth. I think I have her number in the study...” Bobby said hopping down his stairs quickly. Sam following behind him.  
  
“Kate called. She’s sick. She told me to tell you not to worry, that she would be better in a few days. Lucky? NICE, Bobby!” Sam smiled easy  
  
“What the hell did that bitch do to her? Sam, Dean? I need you to drive to Far Point…”

A sleepy bedroom community, Far Point was only about twenty minutes away. Mrs. Carver’s neighborhood filled with upscale older homes and large box stores. The community looked like so many of the typical places Dean and Sam hunted. Dean smiled, arm out the window, enjoying the cool air and sunshine. Sam rubbed his neck as he drove.  
  
“She called Dean. What hell are we doing?” Sam looked to Dean who looked to be in a state of bliss.  
  
“Don’t know… He’s worried. We'll just check it out. Still got the Home Inspector badges?” Dean said dreamily.  
  
“Stanley and Simmons. Let’s get this over with. I have so much work to catch up on…”  
  
“Can you just shut the hell up and enjoy the ride?” Dean asked, his hand and arm waving in and out of the air stream of the car.

Sam rolled his eyes as Dean slipped in some Bob Segar.  
  
  
  
Sam drove into the upper class neighborhood of one, Mrs. Eileen Carver. A place where lawns were always maintained, leaves always raked, paint applied regularly and secrets always kept. Sam may have had a smiliar reaction to place that Kate Jenkins did the first time Eileen Carver opened that red door and kept her for twenty years. The house a Victorian like Bobby’s place but this one remained flawless. White pillars supported a beautiful wrap around porch with Victorian era cast iron white chairs and table. Delicate with interlacing roses, they looked like no one had sat in the in years. They hadn’t because “ _What would the neighbors say if we sat loitering around watching the street like peeping toms._ ” The house with ten foot ceilings, long velvet drapes and windows that pieced together in a grid. On the inside looking out, they looked like bars in jail, felt like them too.  

  
  
Dean smiled wide, feeling like they were on a job again. Sam inhaled annoyed that they had to satisfy this insane premonition from their uncle. Sam knocked on the door, shifting his jaw. From behind the door, they heard Kate’s uneven footsteps on hardwoods as she hollered:    
  
“Now Mrs. Phillips, I cannot do your shopping today, I go to the store on Wednesdays…” Kate stared at the boys queerly. She was still dressed in her shear white night gown, with her hand rubbing her head. Quickly she crossed her arms to hide her breasts. In doing so, she revealed a dark red line across her forehead. “What the hell, you boys doing here?” Kate said looking past them out the door, making sure there were no peaking neighbors.  
  
“We were worried about you, Kate,” Sam said slowly. Now actually concerned.  
  
“Go on, go home with you! I can’t talk!” she yelled and then in a whisper, “Tell Bobby, I love him.” She winked and smiled mischievously. She backed away from the door in a limp and a small wave.

  
  
  
9AM Sioux Falls, SD    week later.

A shiny blue new model sedan pulled in to Bobby Singer’s lot. A very serious blonde woman who looked to be about seventy-two pulled herself out of the car. She wore a tan pants suit and dark blue shoes. Around her neck was a pastel scarf, held securely by the broach her late husband gave her. She was a woman who preferred everything to be in its place. She preferred her politics kept all the way to right, her food tepid, her clothing pressed, her house clean, and her daughter and her slave, polite and obedient. After she had broken them in, the only thing that could ever set them wild again was this in this lot. Bobby Singer.

The woman looked around the lot, shaking her head angrily. She pulled up her lips like she was forced to eat something foul. She stomped her way to Bobby’s front door, banging her aged fist on the worn door with a hard pound.

“Bobby Singer! I want a word with you!” she shouted out, projecting her voice as much as she could.

“Oh God! Keep your pants on, I’m coming!” bellowed from behind the door.

The door swung open. Bobby’s irritation turned to overt anger.

“Eileen Carver! What the hell do you want?” Bobby asked with hellfire behind his eyes.

“You know damn well, why I am here, Bobby Singer! I cannot believe you think you have rights to every girl I raise. My Karen went completely crazy over here. This dump,” Mrs. Carver sneered, looking like she would spit if she did not have such good breeding.  

“Get off my land…” he said in low threatening growl. If he could have bitten her? He would have ripped flesh from bone.

The old woman not phased, “I thought I would never have to come back here. I cannot believe they let you off. She loved you, you know. Despite all my warnings and common goddamn sense, she loved you. Not surprised it killed her. Not surprised she tried to take you down with her.”

“Eileen, I am going to say this one more time…” Bobby said as his left eye began to twitch.

“I have no intention of staying you bum. I came to tell you, you will no longer be seeing my Kate! You come within 10 feet of her and I will put her on that block so fast you will not be able to say, ‘I like to buy her…you take checks?’” she said mocking him.

“What in God’s name are talking about Eileen?” Bobby tone changed slightly as he paled just a little, desperately trying to keep the lie.

“Oh! It took me a while, Bobby. It took me some time, but I beat it out her! Her hide so worn out, I am glad the inspection is two years away… I heard from Tim at Charlie’s, she was stepping out with you. Stupid girl!”

“You. Sick. Bitch! Get off my property before I get my gun!” Bobby fumed as he clenched his fists, his nails digging deep into his palms.

“Fine, fine. But keep your distance, Singer. I would hate to see my girl end up working in some overseas brothel…” She sneered, turned up her nose and walked back to her car. “By the way, the bureau will be in touch. Kate will have to be replaced. She no longer works for them.” She called out as she opened her car. Eileen paused. “Jim across the street is driving that hunk of junk Chevy here this afternoon. I have called the DMV. Kate does not have a license anymore, so she won’t be needing it. I know you always wanted the piece of shit.” She closed her car door with a slam and triumphantly drove away.

The next couple of hours in the Singer House were easy for no one. Bobby broke things. Swore. Looked for whiskey. Found the whiskey, broke the whiskey bottle. Swore some more. Looked through demon texts, thought about finding a crossroads. Every avenue he thought of led to Kate back on the block.

Jim, who had been to his wedding, tried to quietly park the old Chevy and leave, while his son drove the getaway car. The old man saw Bobby and ran like mad to his son’s Subaru. “Bye, Bobby!” Was what he could get out as his son peeled out of the lot.

“Coward.” Bobby said to no one.

Bobby had a reputation for his temper. Bobby stood solemnly looking at the beaten truck he had been thinking about for decades. He counted the days he knew Kate. Damn. They barely added up to eight weeks. The keys rested in the ignition, still having chains of beads and small trinkets placed lovingly and proudly by Kate. This was her most prize possession. Bobby inhaled deep. Her smell still lingering strong. Why the hell was he so broken up about losing her? She had just lost her freedom. She would probably not see the outside of that manicured house until it was inspection time. He got in truck, driving the thing to the where the rest of the cars that needed repair, paint or had parts to be resold were stored. He covered the truck with a blanket and headed inside the house.

Sam was on the phone all morning trying to make calls to see if there was a loophole that would free Kate. He called the bureau, his law buddies, even prayed to Castiel, but all were dead ends.


	29. Meet Sara

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Listen closely. This chapter is intense. But it's alright. Dean will be fine after this. His soul will not be crushed. It's okay. He will walk away unbroken. Trust me. But if you are not prepared for a good freak out on Valentines Day... maybe save it for later?
> 
> BDSM is mildly explored in this chapter. There's a summary at the end. 
> 
> PS. Sorry Dean...

A silver Mercedes roars into the yard coming to an abrupt stop. Shiny, new, flawless. No doubts, this car does not need repair. This is Dean’s new trainer. It’s been a week since Kate left and didn’t come back. Dean’s been crawling the walls wondering how this was going to go down. He’s been watching the window, anxious. More now than he was the first time he saw Kate.

Sam has been watching Dean, waiting with the same bated breath. Sam’s read more since Kate first pulled that mass of equipment up Bobby’s creaky stairs. A week since Mrs. Carver drove that beat up old truck and left it. A week since Bobby’s heart broke again. Shattered pieces their uncle can’t even look at, much less put back together. It’s been a hell of a week. Bobby keeps to himself. Doesn’t say much and barks down any attempt to "talk about it."

Sam even attempted a “We miss her too.”

“The fuck you do,” was his cold and simple reply, inviting no response as he left the room, not looking back.

Sam worried Bobby would start drinking again. He didn’t. Sam suspected he didn’t want to do that to her. If she ever made it out of that suburban hell Eileen Carver created, _no_ , Bobby carried on. He took in cars, worked too late and too hard. Barely ate, barely slept, barely spoke. Made Dean and Alfie take in all the cars. He’d just conduct business over the phone so he could mouth expletives, roll his eyes as he spoke. Sam was wise to it.

Sam shook himself back to look out the parlor window. Dean at the other one. Sam’d tell Dean to back away but no one can see in. There is not a cloud in the sky and the sun’s too high for there to be anything but the glare on those windows.

 

A tall woman steps out of the vehicle, Dean’s watching her emerge from that yuppie monstrosity like it’s fucking Pretty Woman and he’s not afraid to say he likes it. She comes out like an old photograph. Classically beautiful with her full red lips and blacklined eyes dressed in a simple A-line skirt and wide-necked top. Walking seamlessly and predatorily through Bobby’s dirt yard to the house. Dean wipes his lips because he is sure he’s drooling. He watches those legs that go on for miles. Dean’s thinking about how they’d feel like wrapped around his waist, his hands cradling that ass. He’s thinking about what those nails would feel like scraping down the length of his long back. She’s slim and firm in all the right places, curving in all the rest. She’s done up to the nines, her hair curled and jostling with her stride. A fine female specimen. She glides through the yard with the grace of cat lazily pursuing the mouse, her arms with a slight sway, her hips following and a vacant unflappable look on her face. Dean bites at his lip, wondering if she’s way out of his league.

The woman presses plump lips in a disappointed frown, walking up to the porch and rapping on the door with a knuckle.

Dean runs to the door, opening the storm door, kicking the front door open. He’s using his fingertips to keep the storm door open.

He tilts his head with a bow, trying to give her his best smile. She looks him up and down, walking into the house, ignoring him as if he were a houseplant or the servant. She passes him with slanted eyes, as she silently judges the worn house, its contents, and inhabitants.

Dean feels breeze come out of nowhere, it chases a chill down his spine. This is not going to end well. His breath catches as her eyes continue to pass critically over Bobby’s house. Her nose too high but her face softens as she watches Sam approach. A smile rolls pleasantly across her face.

Dean watches Sam smile nervously. He always acts like such a goof around any pretty girl. This one has noticeably shaken him. Sam gulps and stutters a little, his hands in his hair again.

“Y-you must be Sara Sinclair. I am…”

Sara Sinclair cuts him off, sharply.

“Samuel Winchester, I know. Is there somewhere we can talk?”

Sam pulls back his neck, nods, his eyes widening. This woman is very different from Kate. Sam leads her into the sitting room. It is formal. Mostly. Dated, but clean since Dean had shined every surface after his transgression.

Sam and Dean take the sofa, leaving her to a blue satin armchair. She inhales and surveys the room, brushing a hand over the seat of the chair before sitting in it.

She looks at Dean with cold eyes, smiling in a sneer. Both Dean and his brother look more scared of her than any demon they ever faced. Dean considers busting out the holy water. Testing her with iron. This chick must be witch or worse.

“Oh. That is Dean, correct?” she looks Dean up at down again, like a piece of meat. Rotten meat.

Sam nods hesitantly. Mrs. Sinclair presses a languid smile.

“He’s allowed on the furniture. So quaint…”

Dean’s eyes grow wide and round.

“Excuse me?” Sam asks forcefully.

“Kneel, boy,” Sara commands coolly as she points two fingers to the ground, to a spot in the middle of the room.

Dean complies, scrambling quickly, falling to the ground on the spot she pointed, head bowed far down. Dean feels Sam’s fear. Sam knew she could end them in ways no other monster could—the fear of Dean’s removal imminent and jarring.

Sara smiles darkly at Sam, in mock confusion; Dean hears it in her voice.

“You need help keeping him in line, correct? Treating him like a freeman is only going to confuse him.”

She walks over to Dean, toeing his leg with a smooth shiny black Jimmy Choo. The overly priced shoe feels cold and humiliating. Dean keeps his head down. Sara starts a slow promenade around him. Dean feels her movement on each part of his body as she passes. He was no more than cattle to her. She stops when she gets back to her seat, crossing her long legs elegantly.

“Samuel. What recourse did Katherine have you take after Dean’s arrest? Besides you taking him to a ridiculous level 3.” Dean knows she’s not going to accept any answer. Especially the truth. He prays silently that Sam lies.

Sam swallows, his eyes darting around the room. This was going nowhere good. 

“She gave him a list of chores…” Sam answers, hoping that would satisfy her. “He did them. All of them.”

Sara Sinclair laughs. Yeah, she actually laughed, graceful and smug.

“Oh, Katherine!” The dark haired woman shakes her head amused, her big hazel eyes dancing over Sam’s body. Sam watches those perfect curls bounce on her long neck. Fuck if she wasn’t beautiful… and evil.

“Looks like we have some catching up to do. The office told me Katherine left her gear here. If not, I have mine in the car. The boy can get it if need be.”

Sam nods nervously, “It’s all upstairs…”

“Dean. Go up those stairs and fetch me Katherine’s small whip,” her voice icy cold with purpose, as if he were likely to forget. The air seems to still as everyone froze.

Dean hops to his feet, eyes set to the ground, hustling up the stairs.

“I am not okay with this!” Sam forgets himself, shouting at her. His voice far more powerful than he thought he was capable of, given the circumstance. She just looks back at him entertained.

“You do not have to be. Yet. Dean needs to be punished. I am here to see that you punish him and teach him his place. This was explained to you, correct?”

“Well, we are not teaching him this way,” Sam says coldly, exerting as much authority he could muster.

“We are Mr. Winchester. Or I will call my office and some men will come here and haul him away. Do you think I am strict? Sweet boy, you have really seen nothing.” Her smile is sweet and her voice silky smooth and saccharine, almost like she didn’t just command his older brother to fetch a whip she intended to beat him with.

“I am the master here. I am saying no.” Sam hopes she would bend at that. Hopefully, she was a slave and this would work. No such luck.

“You may not interfere with my instruction, should you? I will call the office. If I call, it’s the day off for me. Katherine did at least mention this, correct?”

Sam’s eyes narrow as he nods.

“Good.”

Dean walks down the step, head lowered, kneeling at her feet and lifted the coiled whip with both hands.

“Good dog…” Sara takes the whip. She taps the thing on the side or her leg, the slaps bouncing off the wall more than they should. She looks idly around the room, rubbing the top of Dean’s head roughly. “But… we are saving this for last. We have much to do before your formal whipping. Know that at the end of your training today, you will receive a proper punishment to your backside. One that will prevent you from sitting correctly for at least one week. At very least… Before that? We are going to work on submitting. Dean, you take well to a firm hand. That is very good to see. Let us see if we can get Little Brother to lead you and guide you. He should be your master, not your doormat…” The words roll off her tongue, cold and irritated.

Sam shakes to his core, his heart breaking for his brother.

“First. Let’s try a little exercise…” Sara retrieves her black Hermes bag, pulling out a satin bag. She jangles the bag in her fingertips, the contents making a soft metallic jingle. Her long Chanel cherry red painted nails fishes out a small green rhinestone. She rolls the gem around in her fingertip, showing Sam the thing from every angle. A shiny glass jewel with a copper back. She holds the bag out to Sam with two fingers.

“Dean. You have fifteen minutes to collect each bead. If you have collected all my beads? I will give you a treat. Be mindful to collect each one. Each one you lose is a lash Sam will give you.” She pulls out a spring scale. She weighs the bag and shows Sam the number. Sam’s breath catches. Dean has not looked up from the floor.

“Shake the bag onto the floor Sam. Shake it well or Dean will collect each one so you can shake it again.”

Sam starts to breathe heavily. He takes the bag with shaky hands. He shakes the bag quickly, no less than fifty tiny colored jewels littering the floor and scattering in all directions, the glass and metal clinking dully across the wood floor.

Sara pulls out a sleek red phone, setting her timer.

“You will keep your hands on the floor, Dean. Collect each stone with your mouth. Keep them there. Should you use your hands, we will start over again. After the timer beeps, you will spit them back into the bag.”

“What?” Sam asks incredulously. This was beyond demeaning. Beyond indecent.

“You do remember our conversation, Sam. I do not mind making the call. I require obedience. I am not a slave like our poor Katherine. Darren should have never assigned her your case. She is more suited to work with abusive masters. Not incompetent ones,” her pretty eyebrows raise with a charming smile.

Sam’s teeth grind hard as he willed himself out of pulling out the knife from his boot. Summoning a demon to end this evil bitch.

“Snap. Snap. Dean. The timer has started…”

“I don’t think this is working out…” Sam says as he watches his older and only brother lick the damn floor. Thank God, he mopped yesterday… Fuck. It probably tasted like Pine-Sol.

“Of course you don’t, darling. And after two visits? You can elect to request a new trainer. Until then, I am going to show you what a good boy your little slave can be. He will not want to get in any more trouble, I assure you.”

Sam does not want to fight her in the same room as Dean crawling desperately around the room to gather her stones.

  
  
“Can I have a word?” Sam asks her frankly. She smiles a yes, following him to the living room.

Sam starts in on her the moment they were out of earshot.

“Dean doesn’t deserve this! He didn’t choose to be a slave. His parents sold him as a baby!”

“Of course. I hear that all the time, dear. Blah blah does not deserve this life. So and so does not need to bow down before their master. But you are failing to consider it that Dean is a bad little boy. He needs his bottom smacked when he steps from his place. I am sorry you do not understand the concept of owning a slave. You are responsible to the entire community for keeping that boy in line. There is no slave prison, Samuel. There are work camps he will not come back from. Now, it might be easier for you to just send him away… He’ll come back and wet your cock in the morning, make you breakfast and do it with a smile. You won’t have to lift a finger. I can call right now or we can finish up our session.” She shakes her phone from side to side as she looks at him, quietly humored.

Sam’s mind goes completely blank. His face is pale and he doesn’t know what to do next.

Sara Sinclair laughs again.

“You are precious! Dear, come. Let’s see how our boy is doing…”

Sara’s phone is starting its little chant. Dean is already waiting. Head down, shaking a little. Sam can see his knees are red and he’s been sweating. This bitch scares the shit out his older brother and it’s noticeable.

“Now, Dean. I don’t want spit in this bag. Swallow some of that.”

Dean pulls his head all the way to the side. His face looks like when Dad washed his mouth out for cursing in front of Father Murphy. Sam prays he doesn’t swallow her precious stones.

Sara hands the satin bag to Dean, he spits out the beads. He’ll tell Sam later the fucking things tasted like copper and it was one of the worst things Dean’s ever had in his mouth.

Sara pulls out her scale. She looks at it and smiles.

“You missed five, Dean.”

Dean pulls his face up to meet hers. Sam guesses Dean doesn’t really believe her.

Sara pulls her hand back and slaps his face with a crack. Dean’s eyes fall back like stones to the floor.

“Keep your manners, boy… Go retrieve Katherine’s strap, Dean. Quickly now.”

Sam silently thanks God Bobby is outside working in the yard. If not, Dean’d be five miles down the road in a white van or Sam’d be mopping this floor again to get out the blood.

 

Dean comes back and Sam is seated uncomfortably on the long sofa… dead center. Dean can guess what is next. Again, he kneels before this bitch, holding up the strap with both hands, chin to chest, his arms quivering from the stress.

“Now. Over your master’s lap, boy. A position I think you will become more familiar with…”

Dean complies. It stings and he’s beet red and miserable about it but he complies. He drapes himself over his younger brother’s lap and already feels tears. He has no idea how he kept them this long but this hurts.

Now Dean’s been laid out over Dad’s lap more times than he thinks could count in an hour, but this? Worse. Sara makes quick work of pulling his jeans down to his ankles.

“Sam. Take this strap and give your boy here five swats. If you hit him too lightly, I’ll add two more.”

Dean’s sure Sam’s face is somewhere between _Someone pull my ass out of this_ and _fuck no_.

Dean can feel Sam’s breathing. Sam is inhaling deep, in and out through his nose. His chest quakes and Dean can feel the vibrations. Dean can feel Sam’s boney ass long legs propping him up.

“Now, Samuel. I do not have all day. I can add more for stalling if that would motivate you, dear.”

Dean feels Sam’s arm pull back. The hit is light. It barely slaps him. Dean closes his eyes.

“Two more. Seven, Mr. Winchester…” Her voice is causal, like she’s looking at her damn fingernails.

Dean feels Sam huff, feels the arm pull up again. CRACK.

Dean’s breathe catches.

“Good. Thank your master, Dean.”

“Thank you, master,” Dean manages to choke out. He is twitching because that’s all he thinks she’ll allow. Dean’s right. She doesn’t say anything about it, probably enjoys watching him squirm.

“Again, Sam…”

CRACK.

Hits the back of his thigh.

No prompting.

“Thank you, Master.”

CRACK, CRACK, CRACK…

“Uhh….Thhhank yoou… Master” Dean’s stumbling over his words. He’s full on crying now.

“Slow down, Samuel…”

CRACK.

Dean hands are steadying himself on the floor he just licked.

“Thank you, Master.”

CRACK.

Dean’s starting to sweat. Bobby doesn’t have air conditioning and this hurts.

“Thank you…. Master….” Dean’s panting now. He’s actually really thankful. One more…

CRACK.

“Thank you, Master!”

“Good boys! There is hope you two yet! Nice work. Dean is nice and warmed up. He should listen very well.”

Sara is ruffling Dean’s hair, grabbing a fistful and tugging.

After she lets go, Dean doesn’t bother to pull up his shorts. He’s afraid to. Dean falls to his knees.

“You still need to be decent, boy. Pull them up,” she pulls a sharp inhale. “Now, Mr. Winchester. Give your slave a command.”

Sam chokes.

“Excuse me?”

“A. Command. Darling. Lick my shoe. Give me a good bow. Bend over and present. Make me a damn sandwich. Seriously, you do look smarter than you sound…”

Dean’s sweating even more. Good God. How is it not eleven?

“Ahhh…,” Sam’s sweating too. “Dean. Bring me a whiskey. Double please.”

“A good start! Go on boy. Fetch,” as Dean leaves Sara smiles into Sam’s eyes. “I’d drink with you, handsome, if I was not on the job. You want to go get a drink after hours? Call me…”

Sam’s face goes white. “I’ll think about it, thanks.” The words strained. Dean hears it, Sammy can’t be rude. He’s trying his hardest enough not to upset her.

Dean brings back the drink, kneels and holds it up with both hands. Bowing his head. Sam’s hands take the drink and swallows in one swig, wincing and squinting.

“I suspect you may not have to have him trained after all… We do all have our breaking points. We’ll push him there. Then you know if he can be good and not just for a few hours…”

“Now, the grownups need to talk, boy. Go kneel by the front door and wait for your master. You remember how or do I need to teach you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sara walks into Bobby's house. 
> 
> Humiliates Dean.
> 
> That's kind of all that happens.


	30. Now We Begin... Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is way, way, way less intense.

Dean gets up quickly. Walks mechanically and swiftly to the door. He gets down on his knees, chin to chest, re2sting on his heels as Dad taught him. Dean inhales and exhales deeply. He’s silently glad Dad taught him all this bullshit. All the forms. All the commands. Being barked at and humiliated. Dad might have been better at it, but Dad never bought a fucking whip. 

Foremost in his mind, he knows she’ll leave. The worst that can happen is that she’ll beat the crap out of him. Dean’s had worse. He doubts she has much of swing anyway. But fuck does he wish she won’t. That some unseeable force will save him from this. At this moment, he smiles under his bowed head. Sammy has to talk to that hell beast. And she has the hots for him. Sam’s such a bitch. He's probably sweating bullets. Wait. Hopefully, he doesn’t fuck this up beyond all recognition and get him in more trouble. _Fuck_.

 

Sara Sinclair gives a slight yawn as she barely watches Dean leave the room. She turns to Sam, tapping that expensive shoe on Bobby's hardwood.

“We have things to discuss, papers to be signed… there somewhere adequate we can do that?” her voice cool and irritated, implying adequate was something not to be found in Bobby’s house.

Sam rubs his eyes with two fingers, fighting some tears. This is terrible. He takes a few deep breaths to calm himself and points to the kitchen.

The old linoleum table, where Sam ate so many of his favorite meals, turns his stomach as Sara takes a seat cornerwise to him. Tension takes hold of his arms and shoulders, he feels her warmth next to him. He surprised she's warm-blooded. He looks over to her, immediately regretting it as her eyes rake over his body. He’s a piece of meat to her. Filet Mignon seared to perfection.

Sara delicately places a long strand of hair behind her ear. Dean taught him that’s a good sign. Unless you’re sitting down with the devil herself.

She pulls out an overly expensive pen, tapping it on the table gently.

Sara smiles at him. Sexy and attentive, causing his hands to shake so hard he rubs his knees to hide it.

“I don’t bite, darling. Not unless you beg,” she smiles showing her teeth now. She tilts her head with a light chuckle. _Sam just wants this end_.

“You are too easy, Samuel. Here. I have some paperwork you need to sign. I just acquired Kate’s notes about your case. They are extensive. She kept very detailed reports… you look over the contracts and I will attempt to reconcile some of this to useful information... Normally all of this is sealed but in the case of your counselor being removed, they are released.”

Sara hands Sam a thick packet of paper.

“Standard clauses… nothing different than what you signed with Katherine. Go ahead and sign where I have highlighted.”

“I would like to read through these before I sign anything,” Sam says blankly, barely looking up from the documents. If there is anything Sam Winchester knows, it’s not to sign anything without reading it fully. Unless you count the last time he had to sign papers with Kate. Reading them carefully probably would have saved his ass so he is not letting that slide again.

Sara smiles and pulls out Kate's notes.

“Wait. Why does this say six more weeks? We already completed eight!” Sam asks, about to lose it.

Sara puts down the document she had been reading over with amusement.  
  
“Samuel. Standard clause. You apparently did not read the papers Katherine gave you… this _is_ tedious…,” she sighs. “The agency will add an additional month for free should you lose your counselor without your request. Do. You. Understand?” She asks in feigning concern.

Sam does not answer. He has gone back to reading and scowling.

After fifteen minutes of silence, Sara barks an unladylike laugh. She smiles gleefully.

“Katherine kept very detailed notes, Mr. Winchester. Looks like she tried a variety of different methods with you. Did she really _paddle_ you?” Sara looks at him wide-eyed and giggling.

Sam turns beet red. Ruby red, running a hand through his hair, looking off through the kitchen window. Sara smiles with smug satisfaction.

“Looks like our Kathrine did have a spine after all… _Poor girl_ ,” Sara flashes a look of pity. Sam watches surprised by that spark of humanity. Maybe she has a piece of a soul? Probably not... 

Sam reads every paper in the packet. Every one of them. At least twice. It takes him forty-five minutes and Sam’s not afraid to say he’s been stalling. Sara finished Katherine’s notes and moved onto lazily looking through some emails on her phone.

Sam’s not surprised at what he finds. Everything in place except it is clear Sara Sinclair has the final say on his brother’s freedom. And. There is definitely no clause about this woman being a slave. Sam has stalled all he could and he’s afraid she’s going to take it out on Dean if he doesn’t do something soon. He feels she’s on to him as she eyes which paper he’s on and doesn’t take her piercing stare off of him. Sam resigns. He nods his head at the papers, initials, and signs, holding his breath as he does.

Sara shakes her head as she pulls out another packet. It has no resemblance to the papers he just looked over. There is large print. Simple words and simple illustrations. She hands them over to Sam with a smile.

Sam begins to read them over and drops the packet.

“No way he’s going to do this. No way I am going to make him do this,” Sam narrows his eyes and tries desperately to appear threatening and manly. Sara just looks at him baffled. Like Sam just told her Dean likes flies in his ice cream. She looks down for her bag, scowling and speaking into it.

“ _The boy can read can’t he_?” she asks seriously. “I mean he looks dull, but _that dull_? I think I remember _some_ schooling…” Sara shifts through some paper.

“Of course he can **read**!” Sam growls, a deep crease forming in his forehead.

Sara pulls her mouth to the side, scoffing.

“Then he can follow instructions, Samuel. He can be a very good boy. I will show you. Leave everything to me. I get results. I have a spotless track record… for those who follow my rules…” she says haughtily.

“I am sure you know how to be a good boy as well? It seems Katy taught you too. I am sure I just need to finish the job…” Sara laughs again, that gentle cruel laugh, sending chills up his back and he shakes just a little.

Sam looks at her hard. He has known demons less sadistic than this woman. More decent than this woman.

 

“Dean! Dean, come to the kitchen,” Sara calls out musically. 

Once he arrives, Dean bows his head, keeping her in his periphery. She points to the ground and he kneels there. Sara rifles through her bag, pulling out a small black box. Dean begins panting. Holy shit. This is it. This is some torture device that he’s heard about that goes up his ass, around his balls or something worse.

Sara just pets his head like a dog she is trying to soothe.

“Easy. Easy now. It’s just a watch. Hold out your left arm,” she commands almost warmly. Dean complies immediately. She attaches a smartwatch to his wrist.

Sara now speaks to Dean like he’s a five-year-old.

“This is a very complicated watch, Dean. It will monitor your movements and track your progress. Read this packet-as-best-you-can. Ask your master for help if it confuses you. Wear the watch for ten hours during the day. Place it neatly in the box during your off time. I will be monitoring your _progression._ That means how well you are doing. I will know everything you say and do from the data it collects, so _best_ behavior. Follow all of the rules in this packet and I will not have to add additional lashes. You wouldn’t want that, would you?” she asks, obviously expecting an answer. Dean holds his breath as he shakes his head quickly.

Sara turns to Sam.

“His beating with have to wait until our next meeting. I have a lunch date. It will be very severe so do not make any mistakes this week, Dean. Samuel? I am sure by this time next week, you will agree your little slave will be a good boy, he will be useful, and he will not want to get into any more trouble…”

Sara starts to pack up her things carefully as they all slide into place neatly and efficiently. She holds a business card between two fingers and directs it toward Sam as she looks him up and down. Sam takes it, his hands jittering again.

“Call me if you want that drink…” Sara Sinclair leaves Bobby house without looking back. And it felt like everything in it breathed a sigh of relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aftercare in the next chapter. See? I told you. Plans within plans...


	31. Of Slaves and Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to sleepyvixen for the brilliant idea! Freaking Gold. 
> 
>  
> 
> This might be my favorite chapter ever. Hope you enjoy.

The air seemed to chill as Sara Sinclair stepped out the door and into the car. Sam and Dean remained silent for a good ten minutes, just watching that door. Both were afraid she'd find a reason to come back. After both were reasonably certain they were safe, the tension left and Dean closed his eyes. He rubbed his head, looking down at his wrist, breathing in and out to calm himself. Sam was doing the same thing but he had both hands on the table, leaning in for support to steady himself. _That? Was terrifying._    
  
Dean's arms started to shake as he pulled them to the left and then to right, shaking his head back and forth. He was ruffling his hair, trying not to show Sam how bad that was. Wasn't _that_ bad, was it? Then Dean started to heave. He ran to the sink and threw up. Sam was right there to rub his back. Dean turned on the sink, splashing water into his mouth. After he's done, Dean just stared out the kitchen window, vacant and hollow. 

“Dude. Dude. Come here.” Sam pulled open his arms and Dean just fell into them. Sam rubbed his back, telling him they’ll get through this. They always do. He pulled Dean back, grasping his brother's shoulders with both hands.   
  
"I'll fix this. Somehow. Dean. I'll fix this. She's not coming back. I swear," Sam looked deep into Dean's eyes. 

Dean looked to the floor, then stared at the watch like it has a damn hex. Sam narrowed his eyes with recognition and stretched Dean’s arm out. He examined the watch.

“Dean. This is a Fitbit,” Sam said plainly, mostly relieved. 

Dean took off the watch, placed it in the box carefully and closed the lid, looking at his brother with a hard glare Sam had not seen in a long time since Sam found out about this mess. The gaze startled Sam.

“ _DO NOT PISS OFF THE WATCH!_ ” Dean hissed at his brother.

Sam just looked at his brother dumbfounded, his mouth hanging open slightly.

“Dean. It’s a Fit-bit. It _counts your steps_. There is no way it is monitoring your every move,” Sam explained wide-eyed. 

“Well, I’m not taking that chance. You? You better play along so I don’t get beat into next week. Well any more than I'm already in for…”

“Dean. Seriously. Stop. This is crazy.”

“You know what is crazy? That bitch. That bitch is crazy and I am not signing up for more pain just because you can’t play master for a damn week… Tell Bobby I’ll be down to help in an hour.”

Dean put on the watch back on.

“Dean. Just take the day off. We’ll watch movies, drink beer, anything. That was intense. I think I need it too.”

Dean eyed Sam angrily. He pulled a piece of paper and pen from Bobby’s junk drawer, the one without the weapons, scrawling:  
  
**DO NOT FUCK WITH THE WATCH and that sounds awesome. After work okay?**

Sam nodded weakly, whispering:

“It’s just a Fitbit…”

 

Dean stayed up stairs for the whole hour. Sam could only guess he was studying the damn packet like his life depends on it. Okay, maybe just his ass, but he sure seemed motivated. Sam called the agency, got put on hold for an inordinate amount of time, explained the situation and is told that is just policy. Sara Sinclair is a licensed trainer and unless she elects to remove herself from their case, there is nothing they can do about it.   
  
Sam trudged up the stairs and takes a shower. A long hot shower. He just needed to get Sara Sinclair off of him. He felt dirty. And not in the good, sexy way. Damn. He had no idea how to get them out of this.   
  
  
  
Dean came down from upstairs with a new spring in his step. He pulled a smile for the first time in a long time. At least the bitch is gone. Not coming back till next week, and he can do all the crap in that packet. For a week? He can do all that crap. Easy. 

The rest of the day went well. Dean worked in the yard, took in cars, helped with repairs, and did his best to be polite and agreeable. To everyone. Even the shit for brains rednecks who know nothing about cars and want to haggle. Even the smug housewives and their stupid minivans that need repair and their inane babbling about their offspring. Even to the average man who wants to talk about some damn sports team and the Mondays. Dean smiled, was polite and it kind of worked out if he’s honest about it.

After work, he took a sweep at the kitchen. Did all the dishes, made Sam something stupid and healthy involving a leek and the other damn rabbit food in the fridge. And for Bobby, he made some chicken breasts with vegetables and brown rice because Bobby should really watch his heart. For himself, he opened a can of chili, heated it and put it in a bowl. Begrudgingly, he added some vegetables because slaves should keep themselves healthy for their masters.  
  
  
  
Sam skipped down the steps when he smelled dinner cooking he didn’t make. His eyes widened at the sight. Dean laid out a beautiful table, with a table cloth, napkins, and candles. But there were only two place settings. _Did Dean met a girl in the yard?_

As Sam scratched his head. Dean smiled wide and proud.

“This slave has made dinner for his master. He hopes it is satisfactory.”

Dean pulled a chair out and gestured for him to sit down.

Sam just looked at him like Dean’s been hit on the head too hard. Sam’s eyes folded in concern. Dean grabbed another piece of paper.

**You. Sit down. Before I take this watch off and shove this granola garbage down your gigantor throat!**

Sam looked shocked, but now he was scared so he did what Dean asked.

Dean set a beautiful plate of roasted leeks and vegetables before Sam with obvious pride.

Sam eyed Dean curiously. Dean’s eyes narrowed and he wrote on the paper again.

 **Eat it or I end you.**  
  
Sam picked up a fork promptly, shaking his head. 

The kitchen door squeaked open as Bobby comes in taking off his trucker hat, wiping the sweat off his brow. He was exhausted after a long day and it showed. Dark circles lined his eyes and his posture slumped as he rubbed his neck looking around the kitchen. What he saw exhausted him more.

“What the hell is this? You got a date of something? Fuck. You know what? I don’t want to know…”

“Sir, this is your dinner.” Dean eyed Bobby angrily, pulling out a chair, squinting with a twitch in his eye, his face saying _sit the fuck down, old man_.

Bobby cranked his jaw to the left suspiciously, took a seat and turned to Sam.

“You know why your brother is acting like all the marbles in his head just hit the damn ground?” Bobby growled, unamused.

Dean set down a plate of food in front of Bobby. Bobby looked at the dinner wearily, shrugged and then picked up a knife and fork. Bobby took a bite and shook his head from side to side, raising his eyebrows mildly pleased.

“Not bad, son. You been into Karen’s Betty Crocker?”

“It is this slave’s pleasure to serve you,” Dean said with a satisfied grin. 

Bobby shook his head wearily.

“I am not even going to ask…”

 

Dean left the kitchen covertly to eat his chili in the basement. One of the rules of the packet is slaves should not dine with their masters… Whatever saves his ass, Dean’s fine with.

At nine o’clock, the watch can come off. Dean stored it carefully in its box and hopped downstairs to meet Bobby and Sam in the living room.

“Holy crap. Being a slave sucks!” Dean said as he collapsed into the couch. Sam was drinking a beer, Bobby a diet Dr. Pepper. Sam got up and fetched Dean a beer, cracking it open for him. Dean smiled. But Sam couldn't hold it in any longer. 

“Dean. There is no way that thing can tract and send any data at all. First off all, that would require a lot more power. Especially if it does not need to charge for a week. Second. Dean… It’s a Fitbit. I can show a picture on Google.”

“Magic. I have seen some crazy shit with magic. And I am not sure. But that bitch is probably a witch. Or worse. Not risking my ass. And you? You better play along or your ass? Mine during me-time.”

Sam rubbed his face, smiling underneath his hands. _There was his brother._  
  
The three vegged out, watched Tori and Dean, laughed hard, eating too much popcorn.   
  
  
  
On Tuesday, Sam was still hitting the books. He’s been researching slave laws and trying to find some damn loophole to get Dean out of that beating. To get that sadist out of their lives. Sam's at the kitchen table crouched over his computer when Dean walked in with the strap in his hands.   
  
Sam's heart jumped as he pulled his neck back, flabbergasted.   
  
"What are you doing?" Sam asked slowly, hoping this was not some kind of demonic possession.   
  
"Broke one of the gaskets trying to get it on a pick-up. Gonna cost Bobby a mess of cash. Was gonna pay for it out of my wages, but really haven't made enough to cover it. You’re going to have to loan me the money. I deserve it, Sam."  
  
Sam's heart sank.   
  
"No, Dean. No. Just. No. It was an accident Dean. Just. No..." Sam shook his head, the guilt of ever hitting his brother coming back in waves.  
  
Dean glared again. Pissed as hell. He walked out of the room. Came back, eyes narrowed, red-faced, watch off.   
  
" _You? You better do this._ And do it right or remember the time Dad beat the hell out of you for not cleaning that sanctified blade and me and him almost got ourselves killed because of it? During me-time? I'll get you worse. _Do it,_ " Dean said pointedly, no room for argument in his voice. Dean left to retrieve the watch.   
  
Dean returned, watch back on, kneeling, lifting the strap up with both hands, presenting it to Sam.   
  
Sam huffed, rolling his head on his neck.   
  
"Alright. Alright," Sam said in defeat, taking the strap out of Dean's hands.   
  
Dean took his jeans down to knees but left on his boxers, putting both hands on the counter, bracing himself.   
  
Sam reluctantly pulled back his arm.   
  
It was barely a slap.   
  
Dean looked back with death glare again.   
  
Sam inhaled. Pulled back his arm and hit Dean ten times like Kate taught him. Hard and fast. Over quick. The slaps echoing off the kitchen surfaces as Sam winced with each blow.   
  
Dean wiped a few tears with two fingers then gave Sam an approving upward nod as he pulled up his jeans and headed back out to the yard.   
  
  


The week progressed like that. Dean made breakfast, lunch and dinner, ate by himself and did all the chores. He worked hard and looked to be fine with it. On Wednesday night, during "me-time," Dean sat on Bobby's couch, staring at Sam for a good five minutes. Sam paused Rocky III, looking back. 

“What? What do I have on my face? What did you do?” Sam asked squinting.

“Nothing… Nothing… Hey, you still have that harpy’s phone number?” Dean asked with a devious smile. Sam pulled his neck back nodding a little, already afraid.

“You know. I have been thinking. What if you asked her out?” Dean asked slyly. 

Sam paled. Shaking his head.

“No. No. No. No. No.” Sam repeated, over and over, his head shaking frantically. 

“Oh yeah. You want to make it up to me? You know, for beating my ass? For no good reason. You make nice with this demon bitch and we’ll call it even.”

“That is not _even!_ ” Sam protested.

“Oh. I think it is. You give it up. You take one for the team and slip her the Sam meat,” Dean smiled with teeth. 

“No. No way. She scares the hell out of me. And did you see the way she looks at me? She will _literally_ eat me alive. Dean, do not make me do this,” Sam pleaded. Dean just grinned wider.

“What? She's like way, way, way out your league. And she wants you. You need to get that minion of hell to not whip the shit out of me or I swear, after this is all over? I will make your life a living hell. Also, you’ve already boned a demon. Can’t be worse than that.” Dean smiled, pulling up a cheek. Sammy was going to cave.  
  
Sam put both hands on his knees, pushing circles into his temples.

“Only. Only because you are my brother.”

“ _That’s my boy!_ ” Dean said leaning back, both hands cradling the back of his head, feeling great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you. I told it was going to be okay. Trust me now? 
> 
> Please note: Sam. Has the penis of death. Look it up. It's a thing. 
> 
>  
> 
> PS. If you follow Jim Beaver's twitter, which I do. You'd know he's the unofficial spokesperson for Diet Dr. Pepper. I think. Not sure. Really should get a life.


	32. Wined and Dined with Champaign and Caviar

  
  
  
  
  
Thursday 11 AM Sioux Falls, SD  
  
Dark storm clouds lined the skies. Fall in full swing as Dean, Alfie and Bobby worked hard on the cars in the lot. Business booming as word got around from the surrounding towns that Singer Auto was once again open after twenty years. Reputations followed quickly that you could get good work at a fair price. Bobby upped Dean and Alfie's salary and just banked the rest, not feeling up to changing his lifestyle in the least.   
  
All the men wore coats, gloves and hats. Bobby was talking to contractors about adding a real garage. Not that he couldn't put one up himself. He was just so tired. Worn down and sad. 

  
  
As lunch time rolled around, Bobby went looking for Dean. He found him working under the hood of an old green Corolla. Bobby took off his hat, itching at his head with a half smile.  

"Dean, you want lunch? It's on me. You've been workin' real hard, son," Bobby asked, hoping for a yes. The kid was acting so strange it'd be nice to see him enjoy something.   
  
"If it pleases you, master," Dean said stoically, eyes cast down.   
  
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Bobby asked cranking his neck to the side. "Never mind," Bobby said quickly. He turned, fussing with the bottles of motor oil, turning on the balls of his feet quick, splashing holy water in Dean's face. Dean falls to his knees.   
  
"This slave begs your forgiveness," Dean said looking at the ground. Bobby huffs, more than annoyed.   
  
"Can you stop acting like a fucking loon? I can't keep up with this bullshit. Dean, I am too old to put up with this level of crazy and, boy? I have seen a lot of crazy," Bobby's curling his lips, on the verge of pissed.  
  
Dean sighed, gets up, rolling his eyes. Dean pulled out a piece of paper, wiping the water from his face with his sleeve.   
  
**Bobby I told you just play along**  
  
"I'll be damned if I ever treat you like a damn dog, Dean. Now shut the hell up. I'm getting you a burger. End of discussion," Bobby said bluntly, muttering to himself. _"Acting like a damn mental patient..."_  
  
  
  
Thursday night rolls around and Sam was twitching and drinking. She said yes. Damnit. She said yes. She said, be ready on Friday. Those were the only directions given. Sam hoped the whiskey'd help him fall into a drunken slumber and he wouldn't have to think about it for a few hours. Dean tried to reassure him:  
  
"Dude. She's hot and probably into the weird stuff and that can go either way. If you get uncomfortable just walk out. Get a cab. Dude. You're giant and she might be mean but she can't stop you."  
  
That did not stop Sam's twitching and nervous energy.   
  
"Dean, she's scary and holds your life in her hands. I can't fuck this up."  
  
"Sammy. I can take a beating. Just go, try and charm her out of it. You'll be fine," Dean said almost sure of his words.  
  
Somehow, Sam did not believe him...   
  
  
  
A shiny blue BMW sports car rolls into Bobby Singer's lot. A handsome young man gets out to the car and looks around with a bright smile. He's model pretty. High rectangular face with a high forehead and cleft chin, he's muscular with a slim waist and a head full of long brown hair stirring slightly in the wind.  His small crystal blue eyes survey the yard keenly. They brighten as he finds Dean immediately.   
  
"Dean!" the man shouts.   
  
"Christian?" Dean answers back, surprised. "What the hell you doing here? You need this yuppie mobile serviced? We don't really handle that kind of car, but I can look it over if you want," Dean's still smiling. This is the attractive man he met at Callaways. They've shot the shit a few times, and Dean almost considers him a friend. Christian gives back a devilish smile.   
  
"Nope. Here on other business. Man! I cannot believe they sicced Mistress Sara on you! Damn, I am sorry. She is... something else. Just don't piss her off, Dean. Seriously. Do Not. Piss her off." Christian is sincere in his warning.   
  
"Kinda got that. How'd you know?" Dean asks skeptically. Christian just shakes his head.   
  
"Just an unlucky bastard. She owns my ass," Christian says, looking down at the ground at some interesting dirt tracks.   
  
"NO! Fuck. That's the rich bitch. Jesus, just... Jesus...," Dean says quietly, sympathetically. Christian just tilts his head, with a small smile.   
  
"Not so bad. She has her moods, mostly she takes it out on you guys," Christian says running a finger down his nose, then pointing at Dean. "And she's, well hot doesn't begin to describe it, I mean that ass? I mean the sex can be... uncomfortable? But kinda awesome. But really, just here for your brother."  
  
"Huh?" Dean asks looking at his watch. It's noon. It's too early. Where are they going, a matinee?   
  
"Mistress order me to pick him up and dress him for tonight. She said no way he had anything but peasant clothes. Sorry, dude. He'll be home late." Dean's eyes look Christian up and down.   
  
"What the fuck is going to happen to him? Where the hell are you taking him?" Dean looks concerned, giving the man the eye. Maybe this was a terrible idea. Hell, he could have taken it. Especially if it saved his only brother from Satan.   
  
Christian just laughs.   
  
"You worried about him? Don't. I think she's taking him to Chicago. There is quaint little five-star bistro she loves. Quaint at $300 a plate but whose counting when your Mrs. Sinclair." Dean's face sours.   
  
"Why the hell does she even have this job? Has to pay crap. It's government work," Dean asks, the gears whirling. Christian sniffs.  
  
"Just enjoys herself. I don't know. She's some kind of heiress. Spoiled. Critical. Draconian. Upper crust. Uptight. Little rich girl. But... for me? She just wants me to follow that damn packet...your brother around?" Christian says, looking down at his watch. Dean eyes it nervously. Same damn watch.   
  
"Listen. I am having serious second thoughts about this. Any way out?"  
  
"Not unless you want hell to rain down on both of you... he'll be fine, Dean. She's never killed anyone. That I know of," Christian smiles amused, rubbing Dean's shoulder. "He's going to be fine."  
  
  
  
  
Sam comes out wearing one of the suits they used to use working a job. Christian's eyes bulge as he waves his hands.   
  
"Oh, no. NO. NO. You go back and wear something comfortable. You've got a long car ride. I have to buy you something...more suitable. Mrs. Sinclair said nothing that came from a store that sold housewares. We're going to try Armani first, then work our way down."  
  
Sam scrunches his face as he looks back at Dean, shaking his head. The message clear. _You started this._ Sam goes back inside and comes back out in jeans and a flannel.   
  
  
  
Sam gets into the car, shifting his weight uncomfortably. He's already tense, tapping his fingers on the armrest. Christian looks at him and grins.    
  
"Dude. You want some weed? Or a valium. You look like shit." Sam smiles sheepishly.  
  
"I'll be fine."  
  
On the car ride, Sam gets the skinny on Christian. Christian was born in a small town in Texas. A tiny town in the dead center of nowhere called Blessing, Texas. His father, an oilman working the rigs, and his mother worked nights at the Dollar General. His father was a temperamental man who beat the hell out his only son when he was too far into his cups. His mother was a distant, sad woman who just lived day to day. She spent most of her time trying to survive the mess that had become of her life.  
  
Christian could see it. He saw the pain that filled that dilapidated little rambler. Mostly Christian got by. He had good friends, soccer, and did very well in school. He spent most of his days avoiding that sad dirty house as much as he could.  
  
It all changed one cold day in December. Christian came home and found his mother weeping hysterically over a letter. His father had been killed on the rig. His old man had climbed too far up and lost his footing. His mother looked at the bills. She told herself there was no way out. She told him he'd have a better life. That he'd never get out of that podunk town. She sold him off at fourteen. She told herself it was because he would be taken care of. She told herself that with his looks, he'd be sold to a wealthy owner and never want for anything.  
  
She failed to consider she sold his _freedom_. She failed to consider she sold the choices he should have been able to make about his life. She sold him off the Sara Sinclair. A woman who bought him as a house slave. He worked in the kitchen until he came of age. That's when life started to get interesting.   
  
Sara outfitted him with designer clothes, gave him a car and a credit card. All she wanted in return was obedience. And she got it. With high expectations and a firm hand.   
   
Christian accepted his life: his kept little life. He saw beautiful places, dining on fine food on finer plates, drinking expensive wine out of crystal glasses. He had his fits of rebellion every now and then.  Those little tantrums got him the whip. Other than that, he told himself he was happy.   
  
Sam's heart just sank. He felt for the man, but couldn't help silently thanking God Dad had not sold Dean. That if they kept their nose clean, Dean could live a fairly normal life. _If they kept their noses clean._  
  
  
  
Christian takes Sam to several high-end stores, where they serve you espresso, wine, or champagne. Christian chooses a suit that fits his build and Sam had to say he looked good. Too good. He feels as trussed up as an Easter ham.   
  
Christian drops him off at a beautiful restaurant where they try to valet Christian's car. Christian waves his hand after an attendant opens Sam's door.   
  
  
  
A host leads Sam into the restaurant, asking if he had a reservation. He gives a nervous shake of the head and tells them he is meeting Sara Sinclair. The man's eyebrow raises, then directs him to the bar. The bar has fine leather couches next to a full bar of liquor Sam had never even heard of, Sam notices as he cases the place. Then his eye catches Sara. She lounges elegantly on one of the couches, no more than four men giving her their full attention. All handsome, rich and snide.   
  
Sam had to say she looks even more gorgeous than she had in Bobby's house. She's wearing a slim-fitting black dress with a plunging neckline, notably without a bra. The fold of the dress fall down past her perfect breasts. Her skin flawless, with light makeup, plump lips, bright piercing blue eyes, high cheekbones, and a lazy, disinterested smile. Her lashes full. Sam coughs, realizing somehow there was nothing fake about this woman. She was just that seamless. Her hair curled and perfect like a forties style movie star. The men around her begin looking Sam up and down as his hands clenched and unclenched themselves. He tries hiding them in the cuffs of his jacket. The men whisper to each other, probably about him, laughing quietly and easy. Sam looks away, hoping he could escape by examining the full crystal chandeliers that hung everywhere.   
  
Sara pauses, her eyes sparkling and fixed on him.   
  
"Come along, Samuel. My usual table is ready," she glides toward the far end of the restaurant by a large glass window, overlooking a delicate atrium fresh in bloom with roses.   
  
A waiter rushes to pull out their seats. Sam sits down uncomfortably. No one had pulled out and pushed in a seat for him since he was a kid still in a booster seat. Sam looked around the main dining hall. The opulence is distracting. Fine French chairs, silk curtains, paintings from artists he recognized from Art History. He gulps as he takes his crystal water glass with both hands, drinking it too fast. A waiter refilling the glass as soon as he set it down.   
  
Sara smiles sweetly.   
  
"You really are adorable... And delectable. Positively ravishing. " Sam blushes at that. He can't help it. 

  
The two talk about books, political structure, art, science, philosophy. She graduated from Yale and is remarkably interesting. She's clever and witty. Sam smiles a few times, noticing as she touches her face and mimics his stance. Dean says all of those are good signs. Sam's not so sure.   
  
Then... the topic of slavery arises.   
  
"How? How can you ask someone to live like that? A life of pure servitude. A life free of options. How can you justify forcing someone to live a life of absolute subjugation?" Sam's getting upset and her beauty is fading until she licks her lips and draws a circle around her glass with her long fingers. She's still pretty and alluring and he can't look away. She lifts an eyebrow and smiles pretty.   
  
“Samuel. None of us likes being ordered around. But given a set of rules and tasks, no matter how menial, we all seem to fall into line. Your slave is like that. Think about it as working at McDonald's. The work is not hard once the rules are in place. Serving a master can be very satisfying to a slave. I am sure your Dean is being a very good boy now. He waits on you, does he not? And I am sure he does so with a prideful smile.”

Sam rubs a hand over his forehead and down his face. She is so manipulative.

“Yeah. He does, but I don’t want that,” Sam says meeting her eyes as they stare deep. His breath catches a little. Damn, she’s gorgeous.

“Give it a few weeks. You will grow to enjoy it. He is under your care. The very least he can do is be grateful. Has he brought you a strap yet? They start to realize when they need discipline.”

Sam pales and then squints hard.

“I am very good at my job. He believes in the watch, doesn’t he? Most of them do. Poor dimwitted boys and girls. A few see through it. Then I have to come daily, like your Katherine. It is tedious and painful for them. Eventually, they break. Or I suggest the schools…”

“Then why even do this? You don’t need the money.”

“No. No, I don’t,” her smile is gentle now. Then her eyes light up. “I just enjoy it. And. I have seen the schools, Samuel. Even I could not do what they do. Now. Let us talk about you. What are your plans? It seems you are going back to school?” Sam blushes. Yep. She read the reports. Sam takes a strong inhale. 

“Yes. Harvard Law in the spring.”

“A student! And a clever one! But. You do look so very poor. I am sorry you are forced to live in such meager accommodations. Once you graduate, I am sure you will be able to afford something more befitting. Would you like me to buy you something pretty? A watch? Some new clothes? Something that would make you feel…handsome?” Sara leans back slightly, waiting patiently. Obviously not caring what he says, just interested in the answer.

Sam swallows and then takes a big gulp of water, his hands already shaking. His mind blanks as he realizes he hasn’t even asked her about Dean. Not thought about Dean because he was actually enjoying her company, basking in the attention he hasn't had in so long, savoring the most delicious meal he has ever had in his life. 

“Ahh… I really came here to talk about Dean. I really would appreciate it more if you didn’t whip him,” Sam says quickly, trying to get it out before he loses his nerve.

Sara laughs at that. Knowingly laughs at.

“You dear boy. I mean he’s attractive, I see that. But what makes you so attached? He runs over you. He obviously wears the pants in your relationship. I bet…he asked you to come here. Why? Why do you listen to that child of a man? He's barely above criminal,” she asks, genuinely curious.

“He’s my older brother,” Sam states plainly, honestly, a little shocked at how well she read them. Sara rolls her eyes.

“I read that. But darling, he really isn’t. Besides. What makes you think I would acquiesce and allow prostitution to go unpunished?”

Sam looks around the room. Fuck. He doesn’t know why he’s here. Sweating in this expensive suit that feels like silk, looking like the male version of tart. Suddenly feeling like one too.

“You are so sweet. Would you like to take his place, Samuel? It is as much his fault as yours from the notes…”

Sam looks like a lost puppy now. He nods his head. For Dean? Anything. After what he’s done? Anything.

“Oh, sweet boy. I am not going to whip you. Not hard at least… You give me four hours. Four hours and you do whatever I say and we can call it even. I’ll even take myself off your case. If you have a good time, you can call me for round two. I am married and I have Christian so I am not free often, but you are a treasure, I could schedule you in some free time. What is your answer?”

Sam takes down the high shelf whiskey she ordered with one swig.

“What does that mean?” Sam asks, his voice shaky again, very afraid for any answer. Though he’s pretty sure he gets the idea.

“I will book us a hotel room. Christian does get so jealous or I would take you home. And you will do as I ask. When I ask. With as much enthusiasm as you have. Bear in mind, I go as easy on my lovers as do I on my slaves…” Sara has her pinky in her mouth, staring deep into Sam’s eyes, locked in a deeply amused smirk.

Sam’s mind goes white. His eyes wide and his palms sweating. She has all the power and she wields it like a gladiator.

“Samuel, I like you. I really do. But I am responsible for both of you. I truly don’t mind stripping him down and punishing him the yard to get my point across. He should be very afraid of misbehavior… A little public humiliation goes a long way trust me. However… I do believe you would benefit from some correction. Possibly more than your boy. He knows his place. He's pliable, taking to the watch beautifully. He responds very well to instruction. You are just failing to give him any. Maybe if you saw what it feels like, you would understand the freedom of losing control.”

Her teeth are showing. There's that chill again. There is that fear that is rising in the pit of his stomach and giving him a very unfair erection. This is one of the most beautiful women how has ever taken a second glance at Sam. Model perfect. Movie star perfect. But scary. Like so many of the beasts he has fought since he was ten years old. Jesus. Ruby was not this terrifying. Ruby was a choirgirl compared to Sara Sinclair.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She's not a demon. 
> 
> Quote Dean: Humans man.
> 
>  
> 
> Specialist Thanks again to Sleepyvixen. This chapter was going to be far dark and involve Dean and a lot of pain. Now it's just going to involve Sam and a lot of sexy. Maybe a little pain. You know? For fun.


	33. The Cheshire Hotel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to move the venue to Chicago. I always thought Saint Paul would be a romantic city. But... It doesn't really have hotels that are that...extravagant. SO. Off to Chicago! Sorry Saint Paul. I am sure you are an awesome place to live. Just maybe not the proper setting. So I fixed that in the last chapter.

After Sara and Sam complete their meal, the valet brings her car. This is not the silver Mercedes that drove into the lot. It is much more impressive. The valet hands Mrs. Sinclair the key to a new Maserati. The car is jet black with sleek lines that mimic her own. 

“Can’t really use this my line of work. Most of the clients are very uncomfortable with a trainer wealthier than they are,” she explains as Sam gives her a queer look.

She takes them through the uptown of Chicago. Sam can’t stop gawking out the window. The wealth is opulent and distracting. Now, Sam’s been to Chicago. Dean’s taken him plenty of times. They usually stay in the seedy underbelly, where monsters prefer to dwell. This is… quite impressive.

Sara takes him on a small driving tour, weaving in and out of traffic effortlessly in that overpowered, overengineered machine. Sara points out a giant shiny bean structure which she admits on occasion is quite beautiful, but wholly ridiculous as Chicago is Chicago, not the proud Beantown that Boston is. The street becomes narrow and cobbled, the car rocking slightly under the friction. Sam is often the passenger, but this time he thoroughly enjoys himself, feeling like the prize she is treating him as.   
  
Sara pulls into a very gothic hotel, where two valets rush to his and her door to let them out and take her keys. A doorman smiles at Sara, welcoming her back. The older man looks to be in his sixties with a burgundy uniform, complete with a matching cylindrical cap and gold braids along the lapels and collar. The uniform is complete with two divergent rows of shiny brass buttons, very dapper. He looks like he walked straight out of the 1940s. Sam half expects the man to offer him smoke or a hat check. Sara recognizes him immediately. A bright smile, Sam has never seen before, graces her face.   
  
"Rodney!" She greets the man. "It is always a pleasure! How is your wife, dear?"

He looks her with an upturned cheek.   
  
"She's fine, fine. Beautiful as ever. Don't you go trying to take me away from her, Mrs. Sinclair... Who's your guest?" He asks with reservation. It's obvious he does not want to ruffle her feathers but is surprised to see Sam.  
  
"A client, dear. I know you are not running a brothel, Rodney," she says with a coy smile. He relaxes and takes her arm to walk her into the building.  
  
As they continue their exchange, Sam looks over the hotel, staring up in awe. Gargoyles perch high on the ledges, guarding what appears to be a stone fortress. Carved bas-reliefs of angels and dragons decorate the columns as they pour toward the sky. The Cheshire Hotel looks to be more like a cathedral than a hotel if not for its wrought-iron balconies for every room, both impressive and somehow anxiety provoking. Sam feels as out of place as an old gym sock in a drawer of silk stockings. Smaller, like Cinderella at the ball, just before someone outs her as a chambermaid. 

Back in their room, Sara allows her eyes to pass over the suite as if to make sure everything is in order, looking amused and bored all at the same time. The room is gigantic, five times bigger any of the hotel rooms Sam stayed in with Dean and Dad. It looks more like a high-end apartment, most likely the penthouse, as they took the elevator all the way to the top. The top floor requires a key and the elevator door opens directly to the suite. French sofas arranged neatly into a sitting room, a fireplace roars behind thick plates glass next to a large bed, chilled champagne and strawberries rest on a silver platter by what looks like a full bar. Sara removes her diamond earrings, three-carat Tiffany ring, and gold watch, placing them in a cobalt blue glass dish. She looks back at her guest with a pleasant smile.

Sam just stares back her spellbound. He feels like he’s in some kind of trance, but it’s not like any trance he has ever been under, and in Sam’s line of work? He’s been spelled before. But this? It feels like the kind of fear that rides the edge into lust. She walks over to him as he has been unable to move from the entryway. She takes his hand and guides him to an open area by what looks like an office area. He watches her hips sway slightly, her long legs in those silk stockings, and the curve of her ass, so tight it doesn't move. He takes a deep breath, afraid to stare any longer.   
  
Sara checks her phone and leaves him to take in his new surroundings. Sam looks around stiff and uneasy. His head hurts as he tries to reason why the hell he's here, why he followed this completely wicked woman back to her hotel room. He wonders whether he is just repaying his debt to Dean, wonders if this sacrifice is all in the name of never seeing this siren again. Maybe it is... maybe it isn't...

Probably, it’s the fact that she’s turned to face him. She smiles, giving him a long look, her hand lightly touching her bare skin so close to the curve of her breast, and it’s all he can look at.

Probably it’s because he still has an embarrassing erection tucked into the waistline of his pants from when she kissed him in the elevator, smiling into it, his back pushed against the wall as it ascended. Electricity sent sparks between them as he inhaled deeply to catch some kind of whiff of her scent. His senses on high, desperately trying to remember each part of this, but his addled brain can barely keep up as she brushed her fingertips down the length of his jawline.

But now she looks intrigued. She eyes him wildly but appears to have a controlled desire to keep her cool.   
  
"Right then. Well, you are here. Safe in my clutches. Time for a test. Now for your first task. We will see how well you follow instruction. Go into the bathroom and take a shower. A thorough shower. If I am not satisfied, I will punish you and send you in again. Am I being clear, Samuel?”

So it begins. _Whatever I say. When I say it. With as much enthusiasm as you have.  
_

Sam gives a hesitant nod of the head. Sara eyes go slightly colder as she pulls back her neck.   
  
“I will not tolerate you bobbing your head like a child. You must answer me. Use your words, Samuel,” she says curtly

_Oh, God. Participation with this level of blood in his brain._

He gives a slow and deliberate, “Yes, Ma’am,” his pulse rising again.

“Very good! Now off to the bathroom. That is a very expensive suit. I expect it to be hung up neatly.”   
  
“Yes, Ma’am.”

Sara walks over to him with a little sympathy in her eyes. She brushes her hands over his shoulders. 

“Come here, kitten, I will help you with your shirt,” she says gently, approaching him slowly, her fingers idly working on the buttons of the jacket. His body does not allow himself to relax, she still poses some kind of threat. The actual nature of the threat is yet to be determined. Doesn’t matter, Sam’s cock doesn’t know the difference. His mind shrugs off the idea that she might have him lick the bathroom floor or strap him. At this point? He really couldn't care less.

Sara loosens his silk black tie, sliding it gingerly off his neck. It falls gracefully onto the floor. He quivers at the vibrations of the collar of that shirt so soft it’s been playing at his nipples all night. Now she’s so close his breath starts to hitch as she starts the longest unbuttoning of his life. Blissful, he allows her to pull each one free, revealing only a sliver of his chest. He shifts uncomfortably as she edges closer to his waist.

Sam’s trying hard not to look at her face. Trying hard to see the amusement in her eyes at his squirming. Trying his best not stare at her plump lips, and the blush gaining on her porcelain face. Embarrassed by the attention, he only catches stolen glances as he watches the regal grey and cream pattern on the carpet. His head bowed down, he pulls a smug smile at the fact she passed over Dean for him.

Sam’s pulled back as she gently slaps his face twice, enough to be humiliating but not hard enough to hurt. His eyes widen with surprise. She takes a deep breath through her nose, obviously calming herself.

“Right. Off with you. Be quick, Samuel. I should not need to warn you again,” her words bold and crisp. Yep, that’s his cue. He turns obediently, walking to the bathroom to hang his clothes and rush his shower, breathing so heavy he’s getting light headed.

As Sam fumbles with the suit that is worth more than the blue book of Dean’s car, Sara calls out to him.

“Leave the bathroom door open, darling. No need for privacy any longer,” her voice sounds musical, sending chills up his bare spine. This is getting more real by the minute.

Sam leaves the door to the bathroom open, regretting that he has to piss but not seeing any way out of it. As he showers under the sheets of water, he swears he used half that bar of soap, cleaning everything. He dries himself, wrapping a towel tightly around his waist.  
  
Sam stands idly in the doorway again, shifting on his feet. He's afraid to move, looking around the room doe-eyed. She approaches him again with a large plush white robe in her hand. She extends an arm and gestures for him to take it. 

He looks at her queerly.   
  
"Put it on, Samuel, honestly. I can't have you loitering about, shaking from the cold. We have matters to discuss." Her demeanor is cold now. It's reminesant of the way she treated him at Bobby's.  
  
Sam nods his head in short shakes and complies, wrapping the robe tightly around him, feeling like he's been given some type of false armor. It's only mildly reassuring but it's all he's got.   
  
Sara just looks at him amused, pointing to the sitting area. She takes the armchair, crossing her legs at a angle, pointing, directing him to the sofa. Her chin resting on a knuckle. Sam sits down uncomfortably, his posture stiff and his long legs cinched together tight, like a Christian in a whorehouse.   
  
"Samuel. Do you see where you are, dear? Do you see how I got you here? Let's take a minute to look back at the events of the past week. Have I hurt you, Samuel?" she asks frankly.   
  
Sam shakes his head slowly, wondering where she is going with this.  
  
"How has your Dean behaved this week? Did you have to whip him? Did you even have to correct his behavior or worry about whether he was breaking laws?"  
  
Sam narrows his eyes, furrowing his brow slightly. He's been acting hella weird,  but no. No, he hasn't. He shakes his head again. Sara rolls her eyes.   
  
"Seriously, it is so difficult to get you to open your mouth, boy. He behaved on his own, Mr. Winchester. I did not have to monitor or enforce anything, Samuel. But he _did_ obey. I am pleased to say, you did, too. I am good at what I do not because I beat my slaves into submission. I am good at what I do because I understand establishing authority, rules, and consequences. Dear boy, I am trying to teach you something with all of _this_. I have gotten your boy to adhere to a set of standards.  I have gotten your very stubborn, self-righteous, domineering brother to behave without the constant torture your father inflicted on him. _Oh, dear boy, I did read the notes…_ ” Sara pauses a moment, thoughtfully, then cocks her head, raising her chin.  
  
"You. Can. Too. Establish _authority_. Establish _boundaries_. That is what I am here for. I am the scary bitch the little boys and girls do not want to cross. Not because I beat them, but because I have expectations and high ones, at that. If you can get him to follow the rules, he will not break the rules of society. And Samuel. Really,  _that_ is why I am here. He broke laws. He caused the destruction of property. He is not only disobedient, he is a bit of a menace. He was picked up for prostitution... _for fuck's sake_!  
  
"I admit, your case is very unique. Typically, I am called when a master is unable to tame their slave. But almost always, the master _wants_ control and is _desperate_ to find the best way to get it, short of beating the shit out of another human being, breaking another man's will. All of that leads to anxiety, depression, suicide, and in some cases homicide. It is a delicate balance, Mr. Winchester. You are dealing with another human being. A being who, because of current laws, is completely dependent on you. Like it or not, unless he is taken away, you decide to sell or relinquish him, he is yours to deal with for life.   
  
"You are going to have to find _some way_ to keep him out of jail." Sara pauses and breaks eye contact, finding a lamp to stare into. "There is my way. There are others. I hope I have shown you there are other ways to guide that are not your father's. That are _not_ Katherine's. He does not need to spend enough time under the lash to learn. He needs to understand the consequences of his behavior, and that his actions are now _your_ actions and you will not tolerate blatant disrespect. It does not end well..." Sara is staring off into painting of red flowers and begins talking more to it than to Sam.  
  
"I had a girl taken away, Mr. Winchester. My first slave. Her name was Ellie. Father thought it would be a good exercise for me. I was in my third year of Yale, out of the dormitories and into my first apartment. He thought I would learn leadership and the experience would be a good test of responsibility. He gave me a bag of weapons, as I called them. I shoved them under my bed and swore I could never hurt her. She was small. Barely above five foot. Pretty. She had gotten into trouble in her youth, lived outside the law for years and was picked up and sold at nineteen to my family.  
  
"She became one of my best friends, Samuel. Eventually, she gradually stopped helping with the chores, then stopped coming home at night, partying until all hours. My father came for a visit and found her passed out in the hallway of our building. He sent her to obedience school. For three months, I was not allowed to see or talk to her. She came back eager to please, submissive, and servile. But, Samuel... _She never really came back._ The trauma was so great, it was too much for her. I have had her in therapy and she gets a little better each time.  
  
"Mr. Winchester, I do enjoy being in charge. It must just be in my nature. I truly revel in it. I thrive in it. Dear, the reason I am not the CEO of my father's company is that I find purpose in what I do." Sara twisted the side of her mouth. "I am not saying a good lashing is not good for establishing authority. It is. A light whipping in the yard would probably scare the bejeesuz out of that boy of yours and I would not have any more problems. Most clients keep my number. A simple, _'You don't want a visit from Mrs. Sinclair, do you?'_ typically works wonders...

“Now. Samuel,” she looks him dead in the eye, a smirk pulling across her lips.  “You really are so very adorable. So sweet, I hope I have taught you something. Darling, I really have no wish to rape you. You are done for the night, my pretty princess. You may get dressed, keep the suit. You may have an occasion to wear it after you graduate. Mr. Winchester, I formally absolve myself from your case." She looked him up and down. "My Lord! You really are truly frightened of me,” Sara giggles easy. “I am far from stupid, Samuel. I would never and need not blackmail anyone for sex. I do not like scandal. Rarely do I even practice promiscuity. But as you have probably noticed, I do like to play. And I hope I might further your education." She smiles into a corner on the ceiling, quite pleased with herself.  
  
“Christian will drive you home. A new trainer with be at your door Monday morning. It has been a pleasure. You are such a clever student, delectable, and… skittish. This experience has been great fodder for my ego and I appreciate it. I do have business in Chicago tomorrow so… carry on with your night. Best of luck at Harvard. You are so very impressive….”  
  
Sam looks back at her dumbfounded. His face drops, marked with disappointment and rejection. He can’t really explain why but he was looking forward to this, more kisses, more touches, and the warm, secure feeling of someone else in charge. Someone strong and confident, self-assured and capable protecting and guiding him. It's confusing but he's never craved anything more in his entire life.   
  
Sara shock washes over her face as she looks back at him with wide eyes.   
  
“You want to stay, don’t you, handsome? This little adventure was not only for your beloved slave, was it, darling?" She asks with more than a hint of disbelief. "Did my threats entice you? Must say _that_ has never happened before.” Sara shrugs a little in reflection. “I rarely associate with my clients outside work... so maybe my promises are alluring.” She smiles again, with a look like she just won something she coveted.  
  
“You may stay, Samuel. But my conditions are the same. I am a woman who demands obedience,” Sara's eyes are full of dark mischief again. “I will allow you to take your slave's place. I will teach you how to handle him as I handle you. See if you enjoy it. See if you can learn something from me...  
  
“I digress. _Would you like to play, Samuel?_ ”  
  
A great debate rages in Sam's head as he tries to consider why he want to do this without onus. Sam stares hard at her, considering only briefly then gives her a purposeful nod.  
  
"Yes... Okay... Yes," he spits out in one breath, his heart racing but hope rising as he looks at this beautiful woman who is eyes him like Dean eyes the last piece of pie.    
  
"Do you submit to me, Mr. Winchester? Do you agree to do your best to obey my every command?"

“Yes, ma’am… I submit.” The words feel foreign and cold on his tongue, off and numb. _Was he actually doing this?_  
  
" _Good boy._ Remember your promise Samuel. I intend to hold you to it..." That smug smirk pulls across those pretty full red lips of hers again. She looks as though her prey fell by coincidence into her grasp and she's about to enjoy sinking in her pearl white teeth.   
  
"Your safe word is _purple_. Remember it. I will not repeat it," she says cooly.

“Now. Samuel. Until I release you from your contract, it is my duty to teach you how to handle your errant slave. You have sorely neglected him. You must answer for this and learn from your correction. Do you understand? You have a very severe punishment coming. I would like you to stand in the corner and think about every time your slave has disobeyed you and you did nothing about it. As you stand, I would like you to consider what a lovely time we could have had. With cuddles and sweet kisses, but you were a _very naughty boy._ You will very soon feel the effects of your misbehavior. Now, this is where I would like you to stand and wait for your punishment. Now. Stand and remove your robe," she demands and Sam complies immediately, quickly with shaky hands. 

Sara yanks Sam’s towel from his body and his body recoils and quivers as she grabs his wrists directing him to a blank wall. She places his hand behind his back so that he holds his wrist just above his ass.

“Twenty minutes, Samuel. You will remain silent, still and good or I will stretch the limits of your punishment because, my darling, I can make this so much worse.” Sam can hear Sara’s smile in her promise as it sends chills down his spine. “So be a good boy. Best behavior,” Sara calls out sharply and quickly. Sam feels the words ring in his ears, filling an odd space as he swallows.

Sam stares at the blank wall, eggshell and pristine. Sam remembers when his father made him do this. But it usually followed a beating. He would stare at the wall of some dirty motel or even dirtier rented house or apartment, his ass aching. His fingers would be desperate to rub off the pain, but there was a promise of a repeat performance if he did. This was almost worse as he had nothing to think about accept what was next.

Waves of helplessness and regret turn tricks in his mind. Sam deserves this. Doesn’t he? He beat his brother. And then again. He _didn’t_ beat his brother. He allowed them to get arrested. He’s here in this hotel room, not studying law. All of these things play over and over in his mind, but his cock has different ideas. Sam starts to pant through his erection. It’s getting painful as the anticipation grows. She’s coming back. She’s coming back in 20 minutes. Jesus. Definitely sooner than that. Shit. He could leave. Does he want to leave? His cock replies with a firm no. NO, we are not leaving the hot woman who just promised to touch him naked, _are you fucking crazy, higher brain?_

Sam wants to look at his watch. His decrepit Timex he got at a truck stop after that ghoul slammed his wrist into a Seven Eleven slushy machine, breaking his old one. Sam still wonders how the cops didn’t find them after that hunt went wrong. He can’t look at that piece of crap watch. That piece of crap that beeps every day at 4:20 in the afternoon and for all Sam’s fiddling and his Stanford BA in Law, he can’t figure out how to get it to stop. He can’t look at it because it's in his coat pocket, and his hands rest on the small of his naked back. It has to be almost time. Crap, is it almost time?

Sam’s mind twitches at the thought of a punishment. Not that he’s new to it, strict was a _nice_ way to describe his father. Sam most assuredly never had a girl want to do it, never really had the balls to ask for it or the bravery to admit he wanted to ask for it.

Really, he wants to say this should not happen this way. Sex should be like it was with Jess: loving, consensual, vanilla, slow, intimate, careful, reverent. For fuck’s sake, Sam’s a fucking feminist. Holy crap. This is so far away from that it’s dizzying. Not that any of this matters to his cock, who is doing a little jerky dance in the air at the thought of what’s next.

Sam still remembers that loss of control when Dad would say he was in for it. This was a similar feeling. Confusing and jarring. Scary and foreboding. Sam shifts his weight from side to the other, then freezing abruptly. Hopefully, that was okay… Oh my God, how has not been twenty minutes?  
  
During that time, Sam hears the elevator open and close. He hears Christian and Sara exchange pleasentries and the elevator opens and closes again. 

After what seems like forever, the timer dings, the little song echoing in Sam’s ears. He kept his eyes trained to the wall, like a good boy. Sam’s heart starts to beat faster and he considers leaving feeling a rising panic. Fuck, should he leave?

Sam hears her footsteps come slowly behind him. Casual and easy, like she always is, metered and in control, her heels clicking on the wood floor as he hears the footfalls approach louder and louder. She stands so close he feels the warmth radiate form her body, then feels her long nails scrape gently down the full length of his back, nice and easy. She’s taking her time. She gives his ass a few quick pats. It's gentle and nice, but humiliating as he straightens up and clenches.

“Samuel. You have done very well. I do reward good behavior…. I so enjoy punishing bad boys… But, you have been good, I think you deserve a little reward…” Sara reaches around seizing Sam’s already firm cock. She gives it a few strokes up and down from top to bottom lazily until his breath catches and he pants slightly. His cock is so hard her fingers pop as she shores down the edges and back again.

“Good boy…” Her stroke perfunctory and her voice melodic. Sam’s mind is going white for so many reasons. First, because holy crap, she is going to make this sexy. God, her hand feels amazing. This is _sex_. This is _totally_ sex. This? This is the weird stuff only the theater chicks would do. Probably to someone else. Definitely, to someone else because this shit is happening. Sam feels his mouth begin to water.

“I am very pleased you stayed still and good for so long, boy. But. We still have business to address. You have been very negligent with your slave, young man. He needed a trainer. He needed discipline you were unwilling and unable to provide. Prepare yourself, Samuel. I am going to punish you harshly so you will not make the same mistakes again. I am going to teach you how to handle a disobedient little boy.”

Sam feels shame and a jolt of fear as his cock jumps each time she says _business_ , _punish_ , _discipline_ , and _disobedient_.

Sara wraps her fingers around his upper arm and leads him to the bed. Her fingers are warm tight and firm. Sam’s mind spins as he almost loses his footing as he is pulled quickly to the bedroom. His feet are bare and he toddles behind her like a guilty errant child.

She leads him to the bed.

“Hands here,” she points and he obeys. “Hands flat, back straight, ass out.” She maneuvers him around, his bulk proving to be a hindrance but she compensates with slaps and directions as she puts him into a position of her liking.

“Now you are going to stay still and quiet during your punishment. If you do I will reward you. If you don’t, I will correct you. Are we clear, Samuel?”

Sam nods his head.

“You will always answer me with your voice, boy. Always.”

Sam whimpers a little.

“Yes… Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Now. Ask me. Ask me to punish you.”

“Please punish me.” The words are weak and cold and feel awkward coming off his tongue.

“Good boy. Now, say you are sorry to your mistress.”

“I am sorry. I am sorry, Mistress.”

“There. There’s my good boy.” Sara grabs Sam’s cock again and gives him a few more strokes. He tries so desperately to not push his hips into her hands, his legs begin to shake with the tension. Jesus, it feels so good he feels his knees want to buckle.

“Good. Now Christian bought some tools for us to use…” Sam feels that crawl in through his ears and rest somewhere cold. Christian knows. Whatever is in that black bag on the bed? Christian brought it and knows Sara is going to use it on his ass. The embarrassment adds swiftly to the thrill. _He’s never going to be able to look that kid in the eye again._  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm evil, aren't I? Hopefully, next Friday with the follow-up :)
> 
> By the way... anyone still worried for Sam? He's a big boy and will be just fine...mostly


	34. Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay. I am going somewhere with this. I am not exposing you to cruelty for cruelty's sake. This chapter is intense. Really intense. Summary at the bottom. Read summary before you read the actual chapter if you're not ready for a big freak out. Triggers to child abuse read summary.

 

 

 

Back in Bobby’s house, back in that creaky old farmhouse, Dean sat in the living room in silence, waiting. Waiting for his kid brother to come back from hell--a hell Dean sent him too.

Fuck. That crazy bitch was probably some agent of hell sent to finally finish them off. With their luck? Dean should have seen this coming. He probably deserved to be whipped, stripped, and whipped bloody for what he did: his unexplainable dip back into that criminal life they used to thrive in. A dive back into all hustling, whoring, stealing, credit card fraud he did all in the name of the greater good: a little bad for a lot of good. Saving people, hunting things. Such fucking bullshit. All it had done is land him here. Left him here without Sam.

Some hell-beast had taken Sam, whisked him away in a stupid sports car. _Sammy_. The one person in this life, besides Bobby, who loved him without question. Sam loved him even though all he was a slave, and a terrible one at that. Hell, Sam loved him when Dean got him so thick into trouble they were looking at twenty to life. Sam loved him when Dean convinced him to join him on the road again, all but throwing away his future. All in the name of drinking heavy, banging chicks and throwing his fists into some evil sonofabitch just to escape the reality of his situation. That just left Sam toddling around after his big brother, like he always did. Left Sam moving around the country, living in rat-infested motels, eating shit food he hated, and watching Dean score when that was far from what he wanted for his life. Yeah, Sam loved him even though Dean had wrapped them up in such deep shit that government sadists were knocking down the fucking door to help his brother beat him into shape.

Look where it got the sorry son of a bitch: somewhere in Chicago, _hopefully_ , Chicago. Somewhere in Chicago with one of the scariest broads Dean had ever had occasion to share the same oxygen with. The scariest broad, and Dean just send his only brother into her territory without backup, without weapons, without intel, without a goddamn prayer.

Dean sat alone in the dark, hands wrapped deep into his hair. The hair Sam just took him to get cut. He tugged and pulled. _Jesus_. He had never felt so guilty. His mind wandered back to the last time he felt this level of guilt. When he felt this terrible. It was back in Pine Bluff, Arkansas.

 

 

 

"DEAN!"  
  
Dad knocked Dean’s shoulder to wake him up with a quick whack. Dean’s eyes shot open. _Dad_. Dad staring him down, eyes hard and slanted, his face easy to read: disgusted and pissed all at the same time. Dean looked around the room to make sure Sam was not in as much shit as he was.  
  
Thank God. Sammy’s bed was empty. He must be downstairs finishing his science project. Damn, that kid was so proud of it. He'd wake up early every morning to check the plants, take measurements, test soil acidity, draw pictures, and work on the calculations. He was so damn proud. He’d prattle on to Dean, who would barely listen but would smile back and say, “You keep knocking my socks off kid. Keep it up, you’ll be working for NASA in no time." Sammy would smile up at him, still a shrimp, still one of the smallest kids in his class.

His father brought him back, still with that steel glare, cold and terrifying.

“Dean. I am taking Sammy to school. Already called you in sick. You? Keep your ass in this room,” John hissed at a whisper. “And, I mean _knees_ , boy!”

Dean knelt quickly, still in his pajamas, heart pounding so hard is began to hurt. Dean tried not to cry. This was not a good sign. This? Had never happened. Called him in sick? What kind of beating couldn’t wait until tonight? Jeez. What had he done wrong? There were so many small things he couldn’t keep track anymore. Skipping class? Mouthing off? Not like any of this was new. Dad didn’t care as long as Sammy was safe and Dean kept up with the training and the chores.

His mouth got him in trouble all the time. Dad got calls a the damn times. Guess defiance was the only control he had in his life. Dad could give a shit about his education. Not like a high school diploma was even worth anything to a slave. He wasn’t supposed to be there in the first place. So Dean fucked with anyone who tried to inflict any kind of hell on him: teachers, the police, or the librarian--really _anyone_ who tried to talk to him. The girls? The hustling? Whatever it was, he was in for it. If Dad called him in sick, he must want to take his time before he went into work. Dean shuttered visibly.

It was twenty minutes, twenty minutes of kneeling on a hard floor, praying that something would happen and John would change his mind. In the silence of the room, he could hear the old car’s door slam shut. Then the old door to the rented house shut with a crash, echoing through the hall and shaking the walls. Thundering footsteps of work boots pounding the wooden stairs reverberated into the small room. John threw open the door.  
  
“You know why you are here, boy?” John just spat on the ground as if the words tasted foul.  
  
“No, Sir,” Dean said quickly. As respectfully as he could sound without his voice cracking.  
  
“You know, I work hard, boy. I _work_ hard, I _train_ hard, and I put _food_ on the goddamn _table_. Then I take a blood bath every time I hunt to keep you and Sammy safe from that yellow-eyed son of a bitch who butchered your mother. So when I go into work, where I have to go every goddamn day so _you_ can eat and I have to hear about you being a fucking delinquent. I am not fucking happy.” John folded his arms and looked down. Yeah, Don’s boy had told him everything. Made him look like a goddamn fool… “You hustling at school, boy?”  
  
Dean nodded.

“I give it to you, Dad.”  
  
“Right now, you call me _Sir_. I am so pissed right now.”

Dean looked at the floor.  
  
“You think you are helping? Adding anything of worth to this goddamn family? Tell me how graffiti is helping us out, boy?” John demanded.  
  
Dean choked.  
  
“Tell me how whoring your ass around the entire female body at the school is good for Sammy?”

Dean whimpered.

“You told me to practice, Dad…Sir,” Dean said quietly.

“And can you tell me why you picked Tanya Johnson? Do you have a single damn brain cell left in that thick head of yours? How did you get so fucking stupid?” Dad asked in disbelief, pacing around the room, ready to throw his fist threw the wall. Dean swallowed, fear csused his hands to shake at his side.

“She was pretty and she wanted to, Dad…” Dean whispered, his heart sinking.

“ _Do I_ look _like I want to talk about teenage pussy, Dean?_ ” Dad shouted, too loud.

Dean’s eyes popped open, bowing his head quickly, staring at the ground, shaking his head, fighting a smile as his lips quivered. _Dad just said "teenage pussy"!_  
  
“Well, Mr. Johnson is my fucking boss and you hustled his son and fucked his daughter behind a fucking gas station! Then! Then, you moved on to some other teenage slut. Do you need a fucking collar, Dean? Nice pretty collar to show everyone who you really are? Should I pull your sorry ass out of school so you can get work at some greasy dive? Pick up garbage like the trash you are? I have _tried_ , you piece of shit. I have tried. _Goddamn it!_ ”

Dean’s eyes spilled tears, so many he couldn’t see straight.

“Yeah, you know you’re in for it. Goddamn it. We have to move, Dean. Yeah, _move_. You are telling Sammy today that _you_ did this. You tell him why your ass is beet red and why you can’t sit down. You tell him how you disgraced his family. Why we have to blow this town because you lost Daddy his fucking job! Sonofabitch!” Dad paused getting quiet then hissed.

“You wanna whore, Dean?” John’s eyes got huge, round and wide.  
  
Dean shook his head as fast as he could.  
  
“If you’re going to whore, you sure as shit better do it for money. Next place we settle, get ready to go on a real date, boy. At least then Sammy can get a new pair of goddamn shoes!”  
  
Dean sobbed. Messy. Jesus, he let everyone down. Sammy was going to cry. Hard. There goes the science fair. There goes the English teacher Sammy can’t shut up about. There goes that nerdy kid who called Sammy his best friend. Jesus. Probably wouldn’t even get the chance to tell Amanda goodbye. Good thing he always kept that duffle packed.  
  
“Take it all off, boy. Then you grab that footboard. And you better hold on tight. Because you and me? Are going to be here _awhile_.”  
  
“I’m sorry, Sir,” Dean said quietly.  
  
“Master!” Dad said curtly.

“I am sorry, Master…” Dean said, his heart on the ground.

“I bet… I bet you are,” his master said, shaking his head and staring out the window. “If I had any goddamn sense I'd _sell_ your sorry ass…”  
  
Dean was shaking as took off his clothes. His hands sweat as he gripped the damn bed that came with the place. Lumpy and gross, creaky and old. He gave the good mattress to Sammy. The kid didn’t even know. Didn’t know what the fuck he went through. Better that way…

 

 

John looked hard at the kid. Goddamnit, this was so hard. Every goddamn day. Every goddamn night. He found his leash to this kid was wearing him down. John was tired. So tired. Tired of the confusion that made him long for the next drink, the next time he could escape into a bottle and all of this would seem more distant. Not in his face like it was now. Long for the next shot to take away some of this disdain. Should have just sent the kid off to one of the factories.

No. NO. He _loved_ Dean. For all the work and pain, he loved Dean. Loved him enough to go hell and back for him. Love him enough to lose sleep writing letters, pleading to Congress, advocatcy groups, anyone who would listen about the horrors he was going through with his eldest son who he had to treat as a sex worker. He loved Dean enough to tear every once of decency for his soul. All in the name of keeping him home away from the unspeakable atrocities the factories and training facilities. Many of 'hunts' he went on were trips to Washington to meet with Senators and government staffers. Exhausting. 

But now? Dean was barely controlable. Threats didn’t work. Intimidation didn’t work. Running the house like the fucking Marines didn’t work, but laying into that obstinate little snot’s ass did make him feel better. 

Sammy was going to be pissed. Probably wouldn’t talk to John for days. Every attempt to break through the little kid’s shell only making that little kid love Dean more. Yeah, okay. Sammy _did_ love Dean more. It was obvious. Also obvious John’s rage was thinly veiled jealously.

John had to put all of that aside. His eyes glassed over. All he felt was disappointment. Pulling up roots and finding somewhere else to hold out was not on his agenda. Didn’t matter. Now he had something he had to deal with.

John watched Dean surrender. Watched him peel off his pajamas. Watched him pull himself to the old bed frame. Bend over and brace his legs. Tears falling fast before John even touched him. John tapped his belt on his leg, each time Dean flinched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean feels guilty about sending Sam to Sara's. 
> 
> He remembers all the times he let Sam down. 
> 
> Particularly, when he lost John his job and forced them to move. 
> 
> John chews him out pretty badly. 
> 
> Tells him he's going to have to whore. 
> 
> It's what you read about. Giving other hunters blow jobs. 
> 
> Next chater- Sexy time with Sam and realizations about their situations. Coming Friday. Hopefully. 
> 
> I seriously doubt Sam will hurt Dean again unless forced. Sam will not break Dean.


	35. Dean, I'm Fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some pretty graphic sex. Like tamish BDSM. Read the last half to follow along with the story.
> 
> Find the stars.

  
  
  
  
  
  
Dean can’t sleep. It's midnight, Friday night. He should really relax. Just can't. Damn. No text. No call. Sammy knows better. Damn, Dean's excused himself mid-fuck to duck into the bathroom and let Sam know he's not monster chow. It's been _twelve_ hours. Fuck.

Dean can't stand it anymore. He calls Jenna. Jenna answers exhausted. She tells Dean he's an idiot but agrees to call Dylan. He and Christian are tight. Dylan texts Christian, who calls Dean back immediately.  
  
“Dino! What can I do you for?” Christian asks through a smile. Dean can't be bothered with pleasantries. He needs to know where he needs to haul ass to save his only brother.  
  
“You need to tell me where the fuck my little brother is. Like right now.” Dean hears Christian snicker.  
  
“Oh, Dean! Someone is possessive! You sure he’s just your brother? You two have a thing?” Christian teases.  
  
“Fuck you. Where is he?” Dean barks back unamused.  
  
“Your little brother is probably sky high right now. I would not worry about him at all. Sara’s got plans for that tall drink of water…”  
  
“Okay. Dude. Let me make this clear because apparently, I am not being clear. I. AM. NOT. FUCKING. AROUND. Where is he?” Dean adds a growl to the last few words.   
  
“He’s having sex with my mistress, Sara Sinclair. I am sure he does not want to be disturbed,” Christian answers, getting more confused and concerned.  
  
“Give it me straight. What the fuck is she? Shifter? Were? Vamp? Succubus? What?” Dean demands as the timbre in his voice rises with every word.   
  
“What the fuck kind of fumes are you inhaling over in that junkyard, Dean?”  
  
“Witch. Damn it. I should have fucking known…”  
  
“Whatever you’re smoking? You need to throw it out. I’ve got better stuff. I’ll bring some by when I get back into town. Just ask next time, Dean… She’s just a celebutant. I mean yeah, she’s mean but lives in a horror movie? You need to tell me you’re not losing it, Dean.”  
  
“Just. Tired. And worried. Are you sure he’s okay?”  
  
“Well, I just bought them a mess of sex toys so… I’d say… Yeah, he’s fine. Better than fine judging from what I dropped off.”  
  
“Jesus, I did not need to know that. But, right on, I guess.” Dean takes a shaky breath. “Look, sorry, man.”  
  
“Not a problem. Booked a room and am stuck here until she’s done with your brother. Was my night but I am going to smoke a joint, drink some wine, and watch some porn. Catch you later man?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah. Of course. Let me know immediately if anything goes sideways.”  
  
“Jesus, are you his mother? _Calm down._ Probably see you tomorrow,” Christian says as he hangs up the phone, obviously shaking his head from the sound in his voice. 

 

 

Back at the Cheshire....  
  
“ _My, you are a big boy!”_ Sara smiles into her words, using her long fingers to glide up and down his body until he shivers with goosebumps and lust. _“So pretty…”_ Her words make his breath catch.

Sam is brought back to the present with a sharp SLAP. It sounds like wood on a palm. And that is exactly what it is.

“Kiss the paddle, Samuel. Prepare yourself for your correction. Are you ready, Princess?”

“Yes… Yes, Ma’am,” Sam corrects himself quickly. Sara brings the paddle a good distance from his lips, he has to crane his neck to do it, but he does. _Fuck, this is getting weird. Fuck, how is this so fucking hot?_

Sara rounds the paddle all over his ass, it feels amazing, he is already panting. She pulls back her paddle and slaps his ass. His eyes pop. Doesn’t hurt. Just a slap. He shifts his hips because damn, that felt good. Sara gives him a hard pop. He wants to look back but remembers her warnings. He starts panting again.

“I told you to _stay still,_ Samuel…”

Sam nods and then sputters out a “Yes! Yes, ma’am!” Hoping he caught himself before she gets angry.

“Very good! You are learning, _my very clever student…_ ” Sara continues her slaps. It doesn’t hurt until it does, by then he’s so far gone the blood has completely left his brain. A low whimper escapes his lips that he cuts off quick.

“Oh! You are trying so hard! Here you go… You have been _so_ good…” Sara grabs his cock that is full on aching at this point. He’s panting hard and desperately trying to stay still, to stay quiet, to keep in her good graces because the reward will definitely be worth it.

“You have been very good, but now it is time to practice your arithmetic. Count for me, darling.”

 _Oh, shit. Can he count? Hopefully he can count…_   
  
She taps his ass with the paddle. He’s bracing before he even knows what he’s bracing for.

SWAT! “One!” Sam calls out.

“Tsk, tsk… I would have thought you would have learned from Dean. It is impolite to not thank your mistress…”

“Thank you, Mistress.”

“Good boy.” SWAT!

“Two, thank you, Mistress.” It would be humiliating if it wasn’t adding to his erection, filling his brain with endorphins. SWAT!

"Haaaa hmmm... Three, thank you, Mistress!" Jeez, he really is trying to not make any noise at all. But that stings. Stings so good... but fucking _stings_... SWAT!

"Four! Thank you, Mistress!" His voice is shaky but he can do this. He hopes he can do this. He quivers he thinks about what "worse" means... SWAT!

Sam reaches a space where he can count and deal with it. It's getting harder and harder as his ass turns a deeper shade of pink. 

They come to twenty.

“Tw..enty… Thank you, Mistress!”

It’s clear Sam is wavering. He's reached a kind of high he’s never achieved with whiskey, beer, or hell, the narcotics Dean would give him if he needed stitching up.

“Look at your bottom, Samuel... _You are doing so well._ You are such a pretty shade of pink!” The paddle is rubbing against his warm flesh and it feels so good, Sam almost trusts it. Maybe she’s done, his arms buckle a little as the pleasure takes hold.

“Such a _good boy!_ We are almost done. I have a little present for you. You need to be very good for me. Do you think you can do that?”

“Yes! Yes, ma’am…”

Then Sam feels her push open his legs. He lets her do it, he would panic but he’s too stone hard and desperate to think too clearly. Above all, he hopes it means she’s going to touch him more. She does. She firmly arranges his hips and ass so that his back dips slightly as he presents for her. Sam doesn’t much mind because she’s cooing in his ear about how proud she is of him for being so good.

The praise felt as good as the reward. _He was being very good._ Her reward is a few long soft pulls for which Sam lets a little hum slip. Sara swats him hard for it, across his thigh, shutting his mouth immediately.

After caressing his very pink ass, she walks over to the bag. The black bag rustles again and she retrieves another prize from the toy chest. Sam tries to calm his breathing. She pets his back to soothe him.

“I think you are going to enjoy this,” she says gently. 

Sam’s eyes come back into focus as he lets them wander around the hotel room again. His eyes widen as he feels her apply some cool gel to his very secret pucker, he clinches right away.

“You promised to be good, Samuel. _You do want to be a good boy, don't you Samuel?_ ” she says as she gives his ass a slow pat.

Sam jerks a "yes," with fast nods.

“Yes, ma’am…”

“Good boy, _now relax for me_ …” Sara rubs small circles into his shoulders and sends gentle fingers up and down his back.  
  
Sam feels her draw tiny circles around his rim with some kind of pointed object, his breath increases, his eyes rolling back in his head. _Why does that feel so damn good?_   Sara teases him, poking the strange thing in and out, around and back. In and out around and back, each time inching deeper and deeper. She works him slowly, like an unrelenting tease, the act of the in and out motion sending waves of pleasure that causes his head to bob and his chest to heave in and out with every entry and exit. Finally, he is open enough to accept the entirety of the toy. His breath becomes ragged and he hisses through his teeth. He feels full and feels an electric jolt every time he moved even slightly.

“You are being so good for me. But we are not done with your punishment,” she smiles as she pats his ass.

She rubs his ass with that paddle again. Sam takes strong inhale.

Sara smacks his ass again. With the plug, it is a completely new sensation. It jolts him, he clinches around it and opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. He desperately wants to rock his hips into the foreign object but stays still. He stays statue-still for her.

"Twenty-one! Thank you, Mistress! Ahhh!" SWAT!

"Urrr... ahhh...twenty-two! Thank you, Mistress! SWAT!

"Twenty-thhhrreee! Thank.. You... Mistress!" SWAT!

_"My what a good boy you are..."_

After he reaches thirty, he's barely aware of what he's saying, he's panting and ready to cry. He's ready to cry because his ass aches. But it's more because his dick is so hard it's heavy and he wants more. He wants her to touch him, to stroke him, to ride him hard like a wild horse. He almost can't stand it any longer.

"I do think you have learned your lesson, little boy. Let's see if are you ready for your reward? Would you like me to mount you? Or would you prefer I stroke you?"

"Mount me.... Mount me, please! Mistress!" The words come out as a desperate plea.

 _"So good for me_... Lay down on the bed, boy."

Sam scrambles away, laying down as fast as he can, keeping the plug tight inside. He really does not want to let go.

Sara pulls two new items from the bag: a pair of handcuffs and condom wrapped in gold foil. She applies the cuffs, placing his hands above his head. She rakes her long fingernails down his long chest, tweaking his nipples until he lets out a quiet moan he can't keep inside any longer.

She brushes his hairline with her fingers. He looks to see if he's awoken her ire.

"You need not be silent any longer. You have taken your punishment very well. I am very proud of you, boy."

Her words are music to him. He lets out his moan and his "ah"s. She takes his stone hard cock and wraps it snug in the condom.

"You must obey me still. Don't you move those hips until I allow you..."

Sara removes her dress, slowly, then pulls down her fine black lace panties with two thumbs, never taking her eyes off him. He looks on eyes wide, hungry, eyeing and memorizing her every curve, licking his lips.

He lets out a grunt of frustration, but she doesn't care. She pulls herself onto him, sliding onto him slick and steady, rocking him painful slowly. She's dripping wet and he's rubbing his head against the pillow, so afraid he'll come and disappoint her. As she rolls her hips, the plug does its job. It moves and grinds against his pretty little sensitive walnut tucked deep inside. God, he really wants to fuck this woman. He wants to throw his hips hard into until she cries. Until she screams. _It's all he can think about._

After she's teased him enough, she cups his face with her hands, narrowing her eyes in a smile.

"You want control, don't you, my good boy? _Would you like to fuck me, Samuel?_ "

His face twitches as he growls. He nods serious and primal. Sara smiles as her cheeks pull up and there's mischief in her eyes. She wants this as badly as he does. She carefully, slowly removes his fetters. He's huffing and showing teeth. Once the bounds are removed he loses his control. He grabs at her breasts, bites at her neck, grabs and pulls at everything. His hands wrap around her narrow hips, squeezing so hard, pressing fingers so deep, he's probably bruising her. He throws her onto the bed in a swift movement, jackhammering his hips into her. She pants, arching her back off the sheets, gripping the sheets tight, holding for dear life. Shouting her " _ah_ "s! Her " _fuck_ "s! And her " _Jesus Christ_ "s!

He's strong. He's powerful and taking revenge. It's brutal and rough but she can't get enough. He pumps his hips into hers, over and over and over again. She's all but howling as he fucks her into the mattress.

She cums hard. Her snatch clamps down in spasms, sending waves around his cock. Sam feels it, as his eyes roll back into his head. She pushes him off. He allows it. He knows that look. He pants and snarls, frustrated beyond anything he's ever felt before.

 _"Oh, Darling... We are far from done..."_   She removes his condom. Curling her finger into his hot cheeks, she presses a button. The plug begins to vibrate and his eyes pop, his moans start again. _It feels...so...fucking...amazing!_

Sara wraps her pretty lips around his cock gives Sam the best blow job of his life. She teases his head, running her tongue firmly down his base. Then flicks his head, pointing her tongue into it. She works him hard until his body freezes, his legs begin to quiver and he starts shouting:

"I am close! Fuck! I'm close!" The words come out as a slight beg for permission. 

She works him faster, quick and frenzied.

He cums with a bang. A scream and then a shout. He's not afraid to admit it, he passes out cold.

Sara just smiles over him. She climbs off him, very pleased with herself. She turns off the plug, which has somehow fallen to the floor. She showers then joins him in bed.

**********

 

 

Sara curls into him, petting his hair, watching him sleep until he hums in appreciation, looking over at her with a deeply contented smile. He hums again, pushing his body into hers as she accepts him with a warm hug and soft caresses. He arranges himself until his head is on her chest, nuzzling her, relaxing into her. They fall asleep locked in each other's arms. Sam feels cared for. He feels comfort and safety. It's not the love he felt for Jess, but it is satisfying and he's grateful for it.

 

 

In the morning, room service rolls in a cart of breakfast, hot coffee, and warm pastries.

Sam opens his eyes as she tips the server and sits down to enjoy her breakfast.

"Come along, Samuel. There is breakfast for you, dear. They have brought us eggs benedict, Belgium waffles, and an unnecessary amount of bacon. There's fruit and some other odds and ends. I am sure you will find something to your liking..."

Sam hops out of bed.

"Give me a minute."

He makes his way over to the bathroom, remarkably unembarrassed, and slips on his boxers. He doesn't think the Armani suit is suitable breakfast attire. Sara gives him a knowing smile and retrieves his robe. He smiles again, eyeing the breakfast. Fuck, he's hungry. He feels fantastic, but fucking starving.

They make casual conversation as he shovels food into his gullet.

"Samuel... Would you like to stay?" She asks almost timidly. "I don't mean forever, love. But for the weekend? I could show you around Chicago. We could take in a show. You look like you really are in need of a rest, dear. I am sure this has been very stressful for you."

Sam's eyes widen. He did not expect that. God, everything about this place has been comfortable or beyond so. _So... Fuck yeah!_ He nods still gnawing on a piece of eggs benedict.

 

 

Sam calls Dean. Dean refrains from teasing him. He's happy Sammy is getting some action... Finally! Even if it's with _another_ demon. Sam does just have a thing for bad girls. He's sad that he has to spend the weekend alone. Well alone with Bobby, who works near constantly and barely comes out of his room. Bobby does manage to eat a few meals with him, make small talk, and pass out during the movie Dean picked. It was Avengers... How the fuck can you sleep threw _The Avengers_? Dean thought as he shook his head, watching Bobby drool on the couch.

 

 

Sam stays the weekend. She gets them tickets to a Broadway show, buys him new clothes which he almost enjoys as she compliments him and gives him all her attention. They eat well, they drink well. They fuck like rabbits, this time tamer but it's _sex_. It's _fucking_. It's not the lovemaking he did with Jess but who the fuck cares? _It's awesome_.

Sunday night rolls around and Sara has the conversation she has been avoiding.

  

"Darling, I am worried about you. I am worried about you and your slave, dear. I really think you should consider my suggestions. Take him out back, whip him lightly and establish some authority. If you whip him without provocation, he will know you are serious and will not misbehave again. If you do not want a manservant, I understand. But you need to stop him from his criminal activity. The notes are really very disturbing..."

"I know. Look, I know. But you don't know Dean like I do. You can't understand the sacrifices he's made for me. He's literally been through hell just to keep me safe. Look, I understand. I see where you are going, but this weekend I have really had time to distance myself and look at the situation. He's miserable. His situation is miserable. He feels worthless. He makes terrible decisions because he doesn't feel worthy enough to treat himself with any degree of respect. He's self-destructive.

"Yeah, sure, I am affected by it, but it's not intentional. He just tries to beat himself up until there's nothing left. Really it's my job to care for him. Sara, I know. I am sure taming a human being is difficult. I am sure forcing someone to obey you simply because of who they are is near impossible. But Dean doesn't need to be tamed. He needs to feel some kind of self-importance. He needs to know that he should love himself and not just look to me or Dad for that love. Because it doesn't work that way... I need to show him he's not that battered, neglected little boy who had to grow up too fast and too hard anymore. He's a man and doesn't need to live there... _He's better than that_."

Sara raises her eyebrows, eyes wide with surprise.

"You really are very clever, Samuel. That is very wise. I hope with all I have that you are right. That you can convince _him_ of that. I really have never thought of it that way..." She pauses deep in thought and doesn't speak for a while.

 

 

Eventually, it's time for Sam to go home. Christian is grumbly as he picks him up, but mostly he's pleased. He spent the weekend, maxing out the credit card, checking out the nightlife, banging a pretty girl and the next night a pretty boy.

Sam rolls into Bobby's late Sunday night, with a new phone, a Rolex, a Louis Vuitton bag filled with clothes he's not going wear unless he wants to get mugged in Sioux Falls. He also comes with a quarter bag of premium weed for Dean from Christian. Dean greets Sam with a warm hug.

"Dude. Do not do that to me again. Bobby is not good company right now."

"I am sorry, man. But man! I had a great weekend. I know... I know... Sleeping with the enemy but FUCK was it amazing." Sam stops getting serious. "As I said, she's not coming back. She told me to tell you to keep the Fitbit." Sam smiles as Dean looks down at that watch pissed as hell, shaking his head. Sam pauses, looking Dean straight in the eye. "Dean, we really need to talk. I am too fucking exhausted to do it now, but we really need to talk."

Dean pales.

"It's good, Dean. It's good. It's important. But it's good."

Dean squints a little but gives him a hesitant nod.

"Come here. It's going to be fine. I swear. It's going to be fine. Trust me, bro." Dean leans into Sam for a grateful hug.  
  
"Get some sleep, Dean, we are rolling the dice again. The new trainer comes tomorrow..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy. I know Supernatural AO3 is more m/m than m/f. Hope this was tolerable. I liked it. Like a lot. 
> 
> On a different note - plugs and vibrators rule. As does eating them out. Seriously, he'll be your best friend.


End file.
